Fire and Ice
by justvisiting80
Summary: FIRE AND ICE (by Robert Frost) "Some say the world will end in fire, Some say in ice. From what I've tasted of desire I hold with those who favor fire. But if it had to perish twice, I think I know enough of hate To say that for destruction ice Is also great And would suffice." This is MOSTLY a Bellarke story. (Several Mature Themes!) Post- Season 1 Finale.
1. Prologue

*** This story picks up from the Season One Finale. ***

**** Please help me thank my lovely beta, Marina Black1, for not giving up on me yet! ****

* * *

Fire and Ice_ (by Robert Frost)_

"Some say the world will end in fire,  
Some say in ice.  
From what I've tasted of desire  
I hold with those who favor fire.  
But if it had to perish twice,  
I think I know enough of hate  
To say that for destruction ice  
Is also great  
And would suffice."

* * *

He pushed through the pain.  
_* She bore the grief._

He didn't dare think.  
_* She reminded herself not to move._

Thinking wasted time and energy, and he needed to conserve both.  
_* Moving telegraphed information to her anonymous captors, through the camera feed._

He stumbled briefly over a tree root hidden beneath the endless red blanket of pine needles littering the forest floor.  
_* She stared at the only color in this stark white room, the chartreuse,_ _cobalt, saffron of van Gogh's Starry Night._

He had to get to her.  
_* She had to get past him._


	2. Chapter 1

Clarke had nothing. No way to fight back against this… crushing void. Food arrived anonymously on a tray, was cleared away just as anonymously, and Clarke receded into herself, opting for silent mutiny. She curled up on the bed, avoided looking at the camera. When she cried she did not wipe the tears, because they would see that movement and learn too much. She wanted to give them nothing. Whoever the hell "they" were.

Time became arbitrary. She slept when she got tired, and ate when there was food, and felt the isolation and the fear and the uncertainty as great crushing weights that would soon suffocate her.

And then the door opened. Someone entered. Clarke refused to move, still curled up on the bed, her eyes locked on the far wall where van Gogh's "Starry Night" – certainly the original – hung over the small white sofa.

"Miss Griffin, good afternoon." It was a man's voice, silken and warm. She tried not to react with surprise at the use of her name. She must have failed.

"Do not be alarmed, Miss Griffin. We know quite a bit about you. Your friend Mr. Green has been awfully… compliant." Those innocent words conjured such violence, so many horrible images, that Clarke felt her stomach turn anxiously. She maintained her silence, though.

The man moved into her line of sight, and her eyes flickered quickly over him. He was old, this trim figure standing before her in a simple, well-cut grey and black jumpsuit, but just how old was he? It was impossible to know for sure. He sat on the loveseat as if he owned it. Perhaps he did. When positioned so close to the vibrant painting, as he was now, the odd whiteness of him became even more apparent. His skin was almost past translucent; pale blue veins could be seen just below the surface, lacing his face, his throat, his hands. In the midst of all that pallor, his dark eyes stood out in stark contrast. Clarke tried to repress a shiver.

"I am Senator Cary, by the way."

_Senator?_ Her eyes widened but she stayed mute.

"The title is mostly an honorific at this point, I assure you." He had read her again; she had revealed too much, just in the lift of an eyebrow. Senator Cary terrified her; and now, she realized with a sickening certainty, he had just read _that_ off her, too. He smiled.

Silence. It stretched out, became thinner and thinner and finally Clarke's guest decided he might as well be the one to snap it.

"Well, Miss Griffin, it certainly has been a pleasure chatting with you. I look forward to our next visit." He declared it without a trace of irony. He sounded so polite, charming, sincere - and he held out his hand as if he truly expected her to respond in kind. She worked not to succumb, not even to move her gaze toward that outstretched hand.

"I ought to tell you, you'll be seeing your friends tomorrow," he added genially as he let the hand fall to his side. "The first quarantine period has expired, obviously," he gestured toward himself, and a small chuckle escaped his lips, as though he found his own words subtly witty. As though there was great humor to be found in the idea of Senator Cary exposing himself to whatever diseases or radiation Clarke might carry.

Clarke did not smile. She was focused on the first part of his comment. The part that meant more of her people were alive and here, not just she and Monty. The part that meant there was some glimmer of hope. The part that found the aching cavity of Finn and Bellamy buried within her… and began the process of healing her, spreading a first, parchment-thin layer of life over the hole. It was a start.

* * *

Bellamy knew he had been knocked out. He just didn't know for how long. It hurt, trying to remember; everything hurt. Where was he? He groaned and rolled onto his stomach, his fingers scrabbling weakly at the cool, damp earth.

The tunnel near camp.

_Finn._

There had been a moment, in the haze and darkness and rage and pain of his battle with Tristan, when Finn stepped in. Finn the Coward, Finn the Pacifist, had… shot Tristan. And knocked him down. Finn had bought Bellamy a second to breathe, before the three of them were locked into a confused scuffle. Finn had pulled Bellamy off the body of the unconscious Tristan and dragged him toward the tunnel moments before the blinding fire of the drop-ship's engines seared the landscape.

Now Bellamy searched out the daylight. It was not too far, the entrance. He willed himself forward. He crawled forever; his arms were exhausted, but the rest of his body refused to help. An inch at a time he crept, until finally he felt the breeze against his face.

That was enough heroic bravery for now. Time to rest. Bellamy closed his eyes and pressed his cheek against the floor of the tunnel.

When the yelling interrupted his nap, Bellamy tried roaring at them to shut up. Instead his voice choked within his throat and all that came out was an angry hiss. His eyes watered against the acrid red fog bleeding toward him from camp, and just before he succumbed to the fumes, he saw beyond the rise the silhouettes of the men from Lincoln's journal, swathed in smoke and protected by gas masks and weapons. The Mountain Men.

He slept again. There was no way to know how many hours. Days? This time when he woke he knew he had to get up; he needed to see what had become of his people. He cursed his body to its knees, then grabbed the tunnel wall and stood. Bellamy gritted his teeth against the wave of nausea that accompanied the pain battering at him, and finally had a real, coherent thought: _Clarke would tell me exactly what's wrong. She'd yell at me for being a stubborn jackass, too_.

For some reason the idea caused his eyes to prick and he blinked angrily at his damn, weak body. He hobbled out of the tunnel, although the closer he got to the drop-ship, the more horrific became the image before him.

It was like… Pompeii. Those pictures of what happened when that ancient volcano burned the unsuspecting village nestled at its feet. Charred forms, frozen in their last desperate struggle to evade the inferno of the drop-ship's launch, littered the ground. He saw the open door of the drop-ship, noticed the unmarred interior, and Bellamy released a breath he didn't know he had been holding. They had made it, then. But where had they gone?

The part of Bellamy that was keeping him upright took a moment to focus his attention on the ground. Footprints. A muddle of ashy footprints. Useless. Except that all those feet tracking through the ashes had also dragged the ashes with them. A trail as wide and clear as any passageway on the Ark led straight out of camp. Bellamy tried to articulate to himself how that thick grey road would help him, but his body was beginning to mutiny again. He stumbled.

His foot kicked against something metal and he looked down, looked down and saw the used canister and remembered the red smoke and the frightened calls and the Mountain Men and Bellamy Blake woke up.

They had his people.

They had Clarke.


	3. Chapter 2

**_A/N: _**_Hello, and __welcome! So, now that we're settling into this story, some quick notes:  
_**_(1)_**_ There WILL be _**_mature themes_**_ explored in this piece. These could include, but may not be limited to: sex, language, violence, and death. I will do my best to warn of each at the top of the relevant chapters (although language persists throughout) but in general this piece is rated "M" for a reason.  
_**_(2)_**_ I must thank my ever-patient _**_beta, Marina Black1._**_ She is inspiring, supportive, a great editor, and willing to put up with my neurotic temperament. And to top it off, she is a super-talented writer to boot! Don't believe me? Go check her out!  
_**_(3)_**_ I write for the love of it, to learn and grow, and because the Muses won't leave me alone. But it takes up a lot of my time, and the only compensation I get is feedback. So if you can spare _**_a few seconds to review_**_, I will be ENDLESSLY grateful (and do my best to respond, too). It also feeds my desire to write more. Thank you heartily in advance!_

... ...

He did not race through the woods as he had done so often before, a lithe hunter chasing his prey. Nor did he jog steadily, maintaining a controlled pace. He did not even amble contentedly, enjoying the flaming beauty of the changing fall landscape.

Bellamy Blake _struggled_ through the forest.

He leaned heavily on tree trunks for support, sometimes able to see only as far as the next one. And then the next. He stumbled over everything, rocks and fallen limbs and brambles. He got disoriented and had to backtrack. He broke down twice, sitting on the forest floor as the dizzying impossibility of his situation invaded his system, overwhelming him. And then he pushed himself up and wiped at his face and put one damn foot in front of the other. And while he was not making swift progress or even steady progress – and certainly not graceful progress - any observer would have to admit he was relentless.

Eventually darkness crept over the world, and Bellamy conceded temporary defeat. Every part of his body still screamed at him in fiery pain. He searched for a place to rest for a few hours. There was no reason to believe he would make it through the night, out in the forest like this. But he would. He had to. Clarke and the others needed him to.

He noticed a space between two huge roots at the base of a colossal pine. _Why not?_ He curled into the hollow and let his head drop. These demands he was making on his body… he could not keep it up. There would come a time when he would go back to the reservoir for just an ounce more strength, a minute more of endurance, and there would be nothing left. _Too damn bad_. When that time came, he would just find another way to keep going.

He awoke only when the sun had moved high enough that a beam of hot white discomfort crossed his cheek. He rubbed at the warmth and swore. Even the air was wrong: not crisp and dewy like in the mornings, but hot, thick, and stale. He had slept too long. Bellamy stretched out the kinks where he could and licked his parched lips. Water and food surpassed other needs for the moment.

After a quickly scavenged meal Bellamy searched out a nearby stream. He avoided looking at his reflection as he splashed water on his face and took a long drink from the clear pool. It was cold - icy cold - and for a moment it tempered the burning desperation within his gut. For just a moment he felt more human than animal.

It nearly crushed him, letting those human emotions back in. Bellamy staggered and fought back, battling the demons of his own inadequacy. He should have been stronger. He should have been there to stop the Mountain Men. It was his job to keep everyone alive, to fight as dirty as he knew how. Clarke had been clear: she needed him. And he had failed her. The confession burned through him as though he were kindling and he grabbed at his head in agony.

"Stop!"

The word escaped his lips and shot up through the trees, startling birds and squirrels. Bellamy snarled at himself. No time for regret. Time only to move on. To keep going. To get them all back. He placed one foot in front of the other.

He managed to make better progress after the meal. His strength was returning, although he was still far too weak... Certainly too weak to take on whoever was tracking him.

He had sensed it just after he stopped at the little creek, but shaken off the suspicion because thinking wasted energy. Now he was sure. In the raging gold glow cast by the late afternoon sun, Bellamy stilled and felt the hairs on the back of his neck reacting to that little whisper of movement shadowing his. His hand drifted to the comfort of his axe, hanging at his hip. He would fight. Other possibilities never occurred to him.

"Who the hell are you?" he croaked as he whirled around, preparing for the attack. He had wanted it to sound intimidating, but his voice was weak and it came out a desperate plea instead.

A figure separated itself from the backlit trees of the forest and Bellamy squinted against the western light. There was no hostility in those movements. They seemed almost familiar…

"Spacewalker?" Bellamy rasped. That bastard was impossible to kill. He shook his head. "Of course."

"You're going after them?" Finn asked quietly. He stepped closer and Bellamy finally had a taste of what he himself must look like. Namely, walking death.

Finn was caked in soil and blood and soot, although it looked like he had also attempted to scrub his face a bit at the stream. It had mostly just moved the dirt around. Only his wide, clear eyes remained unmasked.

"Of course I'm going after them," Bellamy growled. He turned and shifted his brain slowly back to the task at hand. _Mount Weather._ So close now.

"Bellamy, this is crazy," Finn pleaded. He found the energy to catch up, and tugged against Bellamy's elbow. "You'll get yourself killed." Bellamy shook his arm free.

"Fuck you, Finn." Dying was not an option. Not just yet.

* * *

There was no point resisting the two hulking uniforms with guns and obvious military training, so Clarke allowed herself to be guided down the dim hall. They opened a door at the end and deposited her into a large, bright, hexagonal room that was as sterile and cold as her own. She mentally chided herself for referring to that hated room as hers, and looked around.

Others were already here, clustering anxiously together in the center of the space. Periodically, a door in one of the six walls opened and someone new was ushered in.

They looked so foreign to her at first, in their crisp new clothes. _No_, she corrected herself, _Not foreign. YOUNG._ They had been stripped of that frayed world-weariness lent them by their endlessly repurposed Ark clothing. In these chillingly bare white outfits, her people had been denuded and their identities re-framed. It hurt her soul to see them this way.

"Clarke!" Raven's voice calling from the crowd was almost – _almost_ – the sweetest sound Clarke could have imagined. One figure broke from the others and ran forward, grabbing Clarke into a relieved hug. Raven was alive. She was better than alive: she was up and moving like nothing had happened.

"Raven?" Clarke had been mute for so long that her voice cracked a bit on the name. "How -?" She stopped. That question was too hard right now.

"…How am I not dead? The doctors here put me back together." She grinned brilliantly. "That coagulant Finn got from Lincoln's cave must be some strong stuff, Clarke. They said it kept me alive _just_ long enough." A crease formed between her brows and she looked around the room.

"Wait – where _is_ Finn? And Bellamy?" She turned back to Clarke, waiting, expecting her to have all the answers like she always did. Her warm coffee eyes smiled softly, so blithely ignorant of the answer she was about to hear.

Clarke did not want to be the strong one, not this time. She wanted to collapse into Raven, to hold and be held as she let herself fall apart. She wanted to scream loudly that it was _not fair_, that she needed what had happened to be a lie. She wanted the soothing hand on the back of the head, the steady shoulder and gentle rocking motion, the quiet calm shushing noises everyone always made when assaulted by another's grief.

Instead, ever mindful of the cameras monitoring them, Clarke just bit her lips tight and shook her head slightly at Raven. She would _not_ give those cameras her pain.

"Raven… I'm so sorry."

The brunette's expressive face crumbled slowly, and Clarke grabbed her close, placed a soothing hand on the back of her head, let Raven's tears soak her steady shoulder as she rocked them both gently, making low shushing noises under the assault of Raven's grief.

The others collected around them and watched Clarke carefully, waiting with mute patience for Raven to collect herself.

It was alternately wonderful and painful to see them all. Monty and Jasper reunited, and everyone shared in their moment of joy. There were other happy surprises, when someone believed lost in the battle turned out to be alive and well. There were also the discoveries that froze everyone's blood, as people offered news of those confirmed dead. Someone noted the absence of Octavia, and Clarke's knees weakened. In her heart she had already assumed the mantle of protecting the youngest Blake sibling, and it was too soon to have it ripped from her like this. But then another voice at the back admitted seeing Lincoln heading away from camp with Octavia. Clarke grabbed Raven's arm to steady herself against the emotional turmoil, and hoped the cameras had not caught the moment of weakness.

In the final tally, those gathered in the large white room numbered just seventy-two.

There were questions - so many questions. The hardest moment for the group was the realization that Bellamy had not made it. Many looked at Clarke uncertainly. She was their leader. But she had led with Bellamy's blessing, and the absence of his strength at her shoulder was now conspicuous. There was a quiet shuffling of feet.

Clarke closed her eyes briefly against the worried faces surrounding her. She had to be strong for them. She had to be the Princess – her heart thudded dully at the word – for them. He would have demanded it.

"Miller," she began, remembering. Bellamy had told her. He had known she would need to continue without him, and had told her what to do.

Miller stepped forward, and she blinked at the sight of his close-cropped dark hair. He looked so different without his black knit cap. She took a deep breath and was shocked when the boy grabbed her into a tight hug.

"Hey, Miller, it's okay," she whispered. She was not sure where to put her hands. She settled for patting him awkwardly on the back.

"It'll be okay. But right now I need your help. Bellamy trusted you. I trust you." She knew there was a small sob hidden within his name as she said it aloud for the first time, but she pretended it hadn't happened, and Miller was wise enough to ignore it too.

"What do you need, Clarke?" His voice was low, gentler than usual. That was not what she needed. Not gentleness. She needed someone eager to take charge. She needed to be challenged, pushed to think faster, harder. She needed Bellamy.

"I need to break us out of here."


	4. Chapter 3

"Wait, _why_ would we want to escape?" Clarke looked around for the person doing the asking, but realized there were many nodding their heads at the question.

"Why escape?" Clarke parroted back, confused. She floundered. To her it was obvious. They were back in prison. This was just like being in the Skybox on the Ark, with the added terror of not knowing anything about the people who had put them here or what their plans were. She wanted freedom; she had assumed they all wanted the same.

Monty stepped forward.

"Clarke's right," he began. "These aren't good people." He stopped abruptly and looked down at the cool white tiles under their feet. Jasper put one hand comfortingly on his shoulder; the sight hardened something in Clarke. Nobody had the right to hurt her friends. She felt cold hatred trickle down her spine and her nostrils flared.

"I don't know," Harper protested from nearby. She looked warily at Monty. "That man who came to talk to me was pretty nice, guys. He even said we'll be moved out of quarantine soon."

"I heard next week," an eager voice in the back added.

"No, wait, Clarke's right," Miller tried, but the conversation was getting away from them.

"There's no Grounders here!"

"There's food, and real beds. _And_ running water," Sterling pointed out; Clarke glared at him. At least he had the decency to look slightly ashamed.

Clarke felt frustration welling up. She almost shot back that the Ark guards had fed them, too - then she remembered the cameras again. Everyone was getting emotional; their movements were growing larger, clearly observable to whoever was monitoring the video feed.

"Let's all just… calm down," she suggested quietly.

She watched as everyone settled back obediently, and icy despair mixed with her hatred. These were just frightened children, aching for care and comfort. What did she have to offer them, compared to the relative security of this place? Nothing. She was not even sure where they would go once they left, how they would survive; she had no plans past the immediacy of getting away from the numbing horror of Cary and his stark white world.

She sought out Monty's face yet again, wanting to make sure he was… what? Maybe just that he was… okay?

_Your friend Mr. Green has been awfully compliant._ Those had been Cary's words. So just _how_ had they secured his compliance?

"Monty, you've been here the longest. What can you tell us?" Clarke began. From his place beside his best friend, Jasper shot her a dirty look. Monty's eyes pleaded with her as he shook his head, and Clarke realized she sounded insensitive. She looked instinctively over her shoulder for… but Miller stared back helplessly. _Right._ Clarke's heart thudded heavily again, a beat that felt like a beating. She reached blindly for Raven instead.

"Okay. I can't stay here. Monty can't stay here. But maybe I don't have the right to tell you all what to do. So…" Clarke squeezed Raven's hand once for support and released her, "How many of you want to stay? Just cross your arms," she added as an afterthought, thinking of the cameras. They probably should not see a vote taking place.

In singles and pairs, almost a dozen people silently folded their arms over their chests. Clarke exhaled slowly and turned to Raven, eager to share this small triumph.

The mechanic's arms were crossed.

"Raven?" Clarke's voice carried the shock of the betrayal and Raven wavered. She moved her hands to her hips awkwardly and bit her lip.

"I don't know. I mean, they fixed me up, Clarke. Why would they save my life if they were planning to hurt me? I just think it's too early to make decisions. There are so many things we don't even understand."

Clarke eyed Raven silently. What had this planet done to them? A few weeks ago, Raven would have been the first to jump at the potential adventure of a daring break-out. Of course, a few weeks ago Clarke would not have condoned torture. Or slit a man's throat with a scalpel and watched him bleed out like it was the most normal part of her day. So the fact that Raven had just articulated Finn's cautiously optimistic perspective was no less bizarre than her own very impulsive, emotional response to being caged.

There were no easy answers, though they debated at length. Raven and Clarke eyed each other tensely as the guards came to collect everyone, but many others - including Jasper and Monty, Miller, and Monroe – shot Clarke a grim, supportive smile before they were separated again.

On her way back down the hall, Clarke looked around carefully, wanting as much information as she could get. It all felt very clinical. In fact, were it not for the guards… and the locked room… and the ever-present eye of the camera... Clarke might be fooled into thinking she was a patient, not a prisoner.

She curled up onto the bed, her body finding its way back to stasis as her mind raced.

They were wrong. Clarke was sure this was not where they belonged. Chancellor Jaha had told them Mount Weather was abandoned. Whoever these people were, they had not only failed to reach out to the Ark, they must have actively avoided the Ark's initial attempts to contact survivors on Earth. That was not how allies behaved; besides, Clarke had a difficult time trusting people who gassed her and abducted her. Even the Grounders had been more upfront than this.

The door opened and Senator Cary's voice wafted over her once again. Clarke forced her heart to maintain a steady rhythm as he spoke.

"Miss Griffin, how are you today?"

Silence.

"I hope you enjoyed seeing your friends again. We are anxious to have everyone cleared from quarantine soon." It sounded so simple and promising. Clarke closed her eyes and counted silently, wondering how long he would wait this time.

_… __seventy-three, seventy-four, seventy-five…_

"I am actually taking a tour of our facilities; it is really quite impressive, given the age of the complex. I thought you might wish to join me. This will give us a chance to get to know each other better."

_No._ No way in hell did she wish to join him. But Clarke sat up. She looked at Senator Cary and _knew_ she radiated mistrust with every small movement and she nodded anyway. Without a word, she made her way to his side.

Senator Cary smiled his genial smile and nausea hit Clarke at the certainty that she was being taken to her death.

* * *

"Bellamy! Trust me, you'll get yourself killed if you do it this way," Finn tried, but he might as well have been speaking to the woods themselves. Bellamy had no interest in whatever his unintended traveling companion had to share.

"You can't fight the Mountain Men like this. You can barely hold yourself upright," he persisted. Bellamy grunted rebelliously at the observation and pushed himself harder. "Look, maybe there's a way that doesn't end in both our deaths. Let's go get help. Reinforcements."

That stopped the tall leader. He turned and cast an incredulous eye on the younger man.

"No."

"Hear me out. If we can get to Lincoln's friends at the coast -"

"- A hundred miles away?" Bellamy felt his cheeks flush with the heat of his anger. "And by the time we get back? It'll be too late." He pushed dark, fearful thoughts away and started moving again. He needed Finn to stop talking. He could feel layers of protection peeling off his heart.

"Maybe not! They didn't kill people at the drop-ship, even though they could have. They took everyone alive, Bellamy. That's a good sign," Finn said. Once again Bellamy's mind painted pictures of things so much worse than death and he wondered briefly what it was like inside Finn's head. Blues skies and sunshine and flowers everywhere? _Must be nice_.

"Look. You saved my life. So thank you for that," Bellamy managed with a frown. "Now, not to be ungrateful, but why are you even here, Finn? Why aren't you on your way to the sea right now?" Finn Collins was slowing him down.

There was a painful silence as Finn worked out how much he was willing to share.

In the beginning it had been so easy. Finn had looked around at this new life they had been granted, and decided to embrace the opportunity. It was also easy to identify who he wanted to share it with. Clarke was beautiful and smart and driven. Perhaps a little too serious, but that made every hard-won smile of hers all the more valuable. She had been drawn to him, too. So what had happened?

In the past few weeks Clarke had changed. She had started out his partner, his ally against Bellamy's hedonism. But Raven's arrival had made everything between them so tense. And after the capture and torture of Lincoln, she had become… bound, somehow, to Bellamy. Recently, it felt as though the two men were competing for her attention. The dynamic had shifted and it was no longer Bellamy on one side, Finn and Clarke on the other. Now she was just as likely to side with Bellamy. She held all the power, weighing their perspectives and advice, picking and choosing the answer that appealed to her. She still refused to see that all Finn wanted was to protect her. Bellamy Blake was far too dangerous to be trusted with Clarke's loyalty, but Finn was not sure he could count on her to see that. Not anymore.

Finn looked up and something must have slipped through, somehow Bellamy knew – or guessed - more than he should.

"Clarke," Bellamy answered for him. Raven had been right about them, then. The knowledge stung in a way Bellamy had not expected.

"All right then, lover boy. Tell me again about leaving her here while you run for the coast."

Finn deflated.

Bellamy's jaw tightened as he sized up this kid who had put him through so much. Finn was a thorn in his side at the best of times, and occasionally downright dangerous. He had nearly gotten Clarke killed, arranging that stupid meeting with the Grounders. And yet she saw something in him that Bellamy could not. It had to be more than the hair. What then? His easy-going smile, his earnestness, his relentless push for a peaceful solution to everything? The attraction was lost on Bellamy.

There was a piece of him calling for attention, the same piece that hurt to think of her lost somewhere without him. He pushed it aside. Clearly now was the wrong time to give it full voice. Instead, he turned back toward the mountain. The boy followed, mute for now; Bellamy settled gratefully back into the numbness that had kept him going for so long. He was safest in that mode where thought took a backseat to action. The goal remained always the same, after all. _Mount Weather_.

The sun finally gave up on them, and they sought shelter in a copse of vivid yellow spicebush. With a groan of pain Bellamy collapsed under the fragrant branches, and from his seat nearby Finn looked over in concern.

"How hurt are you?"

"I'm fine."

"You're not."

"It's really none of your business. Back off." Bellamy just wanted to sleep and wake up and keep going. He did not want to think or make small talk. He had not spent a lot of his free time with Finn, but he was picking up on a tendency to be chatty.

"I think I may have broken a couple fingers," Finn continued, holding up his left hand to display a makeshift splint he had constructed. Bellamy nodded and then closed his eyes to hint that the conversation was over.

"Bellamy, I -"

"Stop." Bellamy's voice was rough. "We're not friends, Finn. We don't have to talk all the time." There was silence for a few blessed minutes, but something was still weighing on the Spacewalker. He could not settle down; it was as if he felt compelled to continue.

"Listen, about Clarke -"

"I slept with Raven." There was no good reason to say it. In fact, there were a hundred good reasons to never mention it at all. But Finn had been rubbing at him for so long. And something about him, something Bellamy did not want to articulate, made Bellamy want to hurt him. Raven seemed like a sensitive enough subject.

It worked.

Finn's face was hidden to him, now that the last fingers of sunlight had faded – but there was a change in the younger man's breathing. It quickened, and Bellamy heard him shift forward.

"When?" Fear and anger and bald hatred were laced around the word.

"When you and Clarke were on your little hunting trip," Bellamy shot back. It was an asshole answer, and he knew it. They weren't hunting. They had been captured by Grounders. But Bellamy was out of patience, off-balance, and in pain. "And _she_ came to _me_, just so we're clear."

"You fucking prick," Finn whispered. "You could have said no."

"She's a grown-up. She can make her own choices."

"Not when you're giving her bad choices!" Finn shot back, and suddenly it felt as if they were no longer talking about Raven. Bellamy flinched at the _other_ accusation in Finn's words, but did not back down.

"You need to stop trying to protect everyone!" Bellamy sighed and shifted painfully. He modulated his voice. "I thought you deserved to know. Forget I said anything, if you can't handle it."

Finn was silent, and Bellamy could feel the simmering anger rolling off him in the dark.

"I won't forget," Finn's low voice filled the space between them with impotent rage and Bellamy snorted at the emptiness of the threat.

"Go to sleep, Spacewalker," he growled back. "You've got a princess to rescue in the morning."


	5. Chapter 4

_[A/N: You will NEVER KNOW how much I owe my beta, _Marina Black1_, for this latest update. She basically walked with me all the way through this chapter. I hope you all approve - **and let me know your thoughts! ALWAYS!** :)]_

___[CONTENT WARNING: VIOLENCE AND AN ANIMAL'S DEATH.]_

* * *

Bellamy groaned as the last of the lingering pain woke him in the morning. He gritted his teeth and willed himself upright, then stared at the curled form of Finn Collins. He prodded him with his boot.

"Get up."

Something had shifted between the men overnight. Gone were any final remnants of civility. As far as Bellamy was concerned, Finn should be happy he had not been left behind as breakfast for whatever animals roamed these woods.

They trudged in silence, Bellamy taking the lead again. This was the last leg of their journey; the peak was just hours away at their current pace. The day warmed quickly, and at one point Bellamy stopped to peel off his black jacket. Finn stared at him thoughtfully. He had not forgotten Bellamy's words of the night before. He never would. A part of Finn would always love Raven. She was special; she deserved better than to be used and discarded by an arrogant, womanizing bastard like Bellamy Blake.

"Clarke and I slept together."

The piece of Bellamy that yesterday had ached for a voice blinked sleepy eyes and lifted its head slowly at the Spacewalker's declaration.

"Come again?"

"You heard me! _We… slept… together_." Inside Bellamy there was an unfurling of great, leathery wings and the previously voiceless part of him heaved a hot, smoky grunt.

"Fuck whoever you want, Finn. You're not my responsibility, and I don't care."

He was lying. The smoldering beast cared. It cared past reason. It raged in his chest until every breath blazed, and as the flames licked through him, they burned down the walls he had erected around his thoughts, the walls that allowed him to keep moving, to get to her, to focus his energy on the rescue of her no matter the personal cost, and this jackass had destroyed it all with three sharp words.

"Of _course_ you care, you asshole! _You're in love with her!_"

Finn's face was aching for a fist.

Bellamy obliged.

There was a satisfying crunch as skin and bone met skin and bone, and it temporarily relieved some of the tension within Bellamy to watch Finn buckle under the force of the impact. But Finn struck back, hitting Bellamy in the side just below his ribs, knocking him off balance and forcing the air from his lungs. He struggled to stay upright, barely deflecting Finn's next attack. Bellamy managed to land another blow, this time to Finn's solar plexus; but the move cost them both their balance and they slipped on damp red and gold and brown leaves, tumbling down the hill in a tangle of poorly-aimed punches and blood and hatred and jealousy.

The hot beast within Bellamy wanted to kill Finn. It wanted to chew him up and spit him out, and then go to Clarke and make her his, _forever_ his and no one else's. Bellamy battled the beast even as he battled the boy, not willing to let that creature free. Instead he rained a few more blows down on Finn, then stopped and pushed the creature away again. It smoldered in the corner, desperate for its freedom, but obedient for the moment.

Both men scrambled backwards and stared at each other from their seats on the forest floor, chests heaving with the exertion, eyes red and wild in recognition that they were now, openly, rivals.

_Damn Spacewalker_, Bellamy thought to himself. Every minute wasted on this fool was a minute lost in pursuit of his people, and her. Bellamy pushed himself up and without a backward glance, started climbing the hill again. Too much time lost. Too much focus lost. He swore violently as he moved, trying to curse away the mistakes of the past twenty-four hours.

There were so many _other_ mistakes, though, still weighing on his conscience. Maybe the biggest had been believing he and Clarke had time, believing he could wait for her, or that she would wait for him. She had no idea what she meant to him. She did not know that he had only put her off, not for forever but just until… until what? Until life was safer, and "who they had to be" could give way to "who they were"?

Well, no more. He would find his way to her, let her know that he understood. That he could be, would be, _had to be_ a better man for her, here and now.

The Spacewalker was back, laboring up the hill behind him. Fine. Let him follow. As far as Bellamy was concerned, they were now just two people walking in the same direction.

* * *

The Mount Weather Emergency Operations Center had once been a series of stately buildings that hid below them a vast network of subterranean facilities. These were designed to house the most important elements of the federal government should nuclear weapons ever be turned on North America. When the war ended, nothing remained on the surface; but the people who had managed to make it below ground discovered their new home was well-designed for a long-term stay. The third level down – where Clarke and her people were being kept – housed the medical unit and mechanical rooms that kept Mt. Weather functioning smoothly. Clarke walked back to the large central room of the quarantine ward as Senator Cary spoke, trying to draw a map in her mind. The only access out of quarantine was via wing 301, which joined back to the medical facilities. Clarke actually felt anticipation at the thought of visiting the hospital; the Ark's resources were so limited, and on Earth she had been making do with even less. Before they passed through the large doors, though, a terrible shrieking erupted from the room beside them. Clarke jumped away from the sound and Senator Cary frowned.

She looked at him, and he shook his head sadly.

"That is the Rade we found with your people. A prisoner of war, I suspect?" he asked somberly. _Hm. Anya?_ Clarke blinked and did not speak. "We have a difficult relationship with the radiated people. Occasionally we are able to take one alive, but they seem to prefer suicide. We do not have a good reputation among them. I have spoken on this topic many times in the Senate, but there is little interest or concern in the affairs of the Rades, frankly." Cary sighed wistfully. "It is a shame. There is so much to be learned from them." Clarke shuddered at the idea of what Cary would want to learn, and how he intended to learn it.

The guard swiped his keycard over the door, and it slid open, revealing a medical center that made Clarke's eyes sparkle with envy. It was all so _clean_, and well-stocked, and _quiet_. Doctors and their aides moved with calm purpose, barely registering their guests, and Clarke wondered – just for a moment – if she could apply as an apprentice, once they had been taken out of quarantine.

That heavy thudding heartbeat returned, reminded Clarke of her purpose here, and she looked for the next exit. Cary watched her silently.

"Let's visit the second level, shall we?" he offered in a low murmur, still watching her. Clarke nodded.

The staircase was wide and well-lit, designed for large groups of people to move through efficiently. The scope and design were clearly military.

The second level, by contrast, was residential. Family quarters lined the halls, and people carried themselves more casually, stopping to chat with friends, or to stare in awe at the Senator and his guest. Several couples greeted the Senator politely, and he responded to each, never breaking stride as he asked after their latest project or how they were spending their day off. Clarke felt disoriented. These people respected Cary, that much was obvious. And he seemed to care for them…

"Miss Griffin, I would very much like to change your opinion of me, but I am afraid only time will do that," the Senator answered in response to her silent confusion. They continued on, and just before the guard swiped his keycard again, Clarke whipped around in sudden, heart-chilling realization and a question escaped her lips.

"Where are all the children?"

* * *

"Bellamy?" Finn's strangled voice cut through the silence and Bellamy whipped around, pissed at yet another delay from this man he could not even pretend to like.

"What now?"

"That." Finn was very still, pointing to his left, and Bellamy followed the outstretched arm to a snarling, angry mass of black fur and teeth and nails.

It had appeared out of nowhere. Bellamy kicked himself for getting so lost in his own thoughts, for not being more observant. The animal must have descended from a bear - but the black bears of the East Coast of North America were small. This terror was taller and broader than two men, and its claws were long scythes of certain death.

"Do you have a knife?" Bellamy asked quietly, not daring to move, "A gun? A stick, anything?"

"No."

"Shit, Finn. Who walks into the woods alone without a weapon?" He eyed the creature cautiously. The standoff could not last; the bear growled a warning at the two humans and reached one long arm forward to swipe threateningly at them. Finn flinched and fell back; the movement triggered something in the tiny brain of the near-sighted creature and it went for the weaker prey, lunging forward.

Bellamy's axe sliced through the air and into the bear's throat, cutting its leap short. It fell heavily, but an outstretched paw managed to connect with Finn's leg, and he screamed in agony at the fiery sensation of the claws raking down his shin.

As the animal bled out nearby, Bellamy inspected Finn's leg. Both of them had spent enough time around Clarke to have picked up some basic first aid.

"A seaweed poultice," Finn panted, fighting against the nausea of the pain. Bellamy shook his head.

"You're delirious. There's no seaweed halfway up a mountain. Just… stay still, let me think."

Bellamy had never been so happy to see someone pass out. It was easier to take care of Finn if he could pretend he was someone less irritating. Like the Grounder princess, for example. Or John Murphy.

The nearest water was back at the bottom of the mountain. He pulled the axe from the slaughtered bear's corpse and stared at the sleeping figure of his rival. He was so young he still barely needed to shave. _Amazing._

Bellamy turned and headed downhill, cursing yet another delay.

* * *

Senator Cary smiled at Clarke's sudden vocal outburst, even as he answered her question.

"The children, Miss Griffin? Why would there be children here?"

"Isn't this the family wing? Family implies children." Now that the floodgates had opened, she might as well jump all the way. Cary smiled condescendingly.

"Children, my dear, are not a family affair. Population is handled in the science wing." Clarke felt a shiver run over her skin.

"We harvest a carefully selected variety of genetic material from the population, to ensure an even distribution of genetic diversity. Then the children are raised in a controlled environment that ensures they achieve optimum growth based on their natural gifts and proclivities." For the first time since Clarke had met him, Cary faltered a bit. "Is this not how your people have chosen to handle the issue of continuing the human species?"

"Not… exactly," Clarke whispered. She was still trying to process what he had just told her. This world of his was such a cold place that by comparison, Senator Cary was starting to seem the warmest person in Mount Weather.

The door slid open and Senator Cary stiffened. Clarke looked for the source of his sudden formality, and her gaze fell on a tall woman in a grey jumpsuit like Cary's. This woman was perhaps a bit younger than Clarke's guide, although her silver hair and deathly pallor matched his.

"Senator Cary," she greeted him, and her voice was a dry gravel that Clarke was sure would return in her nightmares tonight.

"Senator Fulton."

"I am glad to run into you. I was hoping to find you in your off -" the woman finally spied Clarke and her calm, professional demeanor slipped. "Thomas! Is _that_ one of the prisoners?" Her pale blue eyes widened in loathing and she took two steps back.

_Prisoner! I knew it!_ Clarke thought triumphantly. Cary flinched.

"They are not prisoners, Miranda!" His voice rose momentarily as he chided her, but he took a deep breath and tried again, more calmly. "Their quarantine period is essentially over. This is Clarke Griffin. Miss Griffin is a bit like one of our Senators, although the man who worked with her perished in the battle with the Rades." Clarke swallowed back a hard lump in her throat at the cavalier comment. "I was showing Miss Griffin how we hope to integrate everyone into our society here."

Senator Fulton laughed. It was not a pleasant sound.

"Tom, give up. The Senate is _never _going to approve this pet project of yours, you must realize that!" Clarke's eyes shifted from one face to the other as she tried to piece together what was happening.

"Senator Fulton," Cary responded, straightening his shoulders and speaking with exaggerated formality, "I believe in the viability of this project. An influx of new genetic material would be of great long-term benefit to our population." Fulton scoffed and crossed her arms.

"I'm not suggesting we lose the opportunity for harvest, Tom," she retorted, "The disagreement is what to do with them _after_. We do not need to tax our resources on untested elements. You already know the better option is a complete sanitation of the quarantine ward, you just refuse to admit it." She eyed Clarke critically, and apparently found her somehow lacking. The older woman's self-satisfied grin was proof of that. "We will finish this discussion later, Senator Cary. Please - continue you pointless little tour, by all means." She stalked down the hall, leaving a frosty terror in her wake.


	6. Chapter 5

_[A/N: A reminder, gentle reader... __**Please let me know your thoughts**, even if it's only a thumbs up or a thumbs down. I will be SO, SO grateful! We who write on here are_ writing into the great void; feedback is our ONLY fuel. Without it, we are left to wonder if anyone wants us to continue!]

* * *

The sound of her door opening that night was just enough to pull Clarke out of a rough, nightmarish sleep. Adrenaline raced through her veins as she struggled to find the line between reality and the terrors she had been battling.

"Miss Griffin? ...Clarke?" Senator Cary's voice was an urgent whisper. She sat up, wondering why he was standing in her doorway with a nervous expression.

"Please, there's no time, we have to move quickly," he begged her. She eyed him quizzically, not yet fully comfortable speaking to him despite their earlier exchanges. The pale man sighed lightly and changed tactics, although his voice still carried a strained urgency.

"I _am_ your ally, Miss Griffin, despite your lingering misgivings. I had hoped my proposal would succeed, and we would have an opportunity for integration of your people into our society. Imagine the benefit to our culture! ...Unfortunately, the Senate voted on it this evening, and Fulton's backers won. I have no more power to protect you, or your people. They will begin harvesting and then excising the entire quarantine unit in a few hours. We must go." He turned and left so quickly that Clarke wondered if perhaps she had imagined it, if perhaps he was just another part of her dream.

But the door remained open, and curiosity led her through. Senator Cary was moving with shocking speed for someone his age, unlocking doors as he went, gesturing to the occupants of each room in an effort to gather them to his side.

Clarke weighed the possibilities. She had met Senator Fulton, and there was no question what the woman had meant by "complete sanitation". And if Cary was against that, maybe the enemy of Clarke's enemy _was_ her friend… she heard the words echo back in Bellamy's deep voice, saw his thoughtful dark eyes, and the clarity of the memory knocked her sideways. She grabbed for the doorframe and took a steadying breath. Clarke was surprised to be caught off guard; she thought she had finished grieving him. She needed to steel herself against these moments, if she was going to remain strong for everyone.

"Clarke? Are you okay?" Monty's question pulled her back to the immediacy of their latest crisis.

"Monty! What do I do?" She whispered, lost, and her naked fear and vulnerability poured into the few feet separating them. Monty was thrown by the question. He wanted to give her the right answer, but wasn't sure what that was.

"All I know is, I _have_ to get away from here," he finally answered. It seemed good enough for her. Monty watched as her features hardened, watched her pull those emotions back in and bend them to her will. She flashed him a grim smile and moved down the hall behind Cary, collecting friends along the way.

It took longer than Clarke and Senator Cary liked, but eventually everyone understood the gravity of the situation and seventy-two young people gathered in the dimly-lit main room of the quarantine ward, waiting for instructions.

Raven and Miller found Clarke and together they listened to Senator Cary outline the path they would take. He could not go with them; he would monitor their progress and assist them remotely. Clarke's brows furrowed; what would happen to him after they escaped? As always, Senator Cary read her silent question.

"Miss Griffin, there is very little time for the kind of answers you seek. My life is of no further value to our species, and I accept that. Who knows? This may be my last great act for the benefit of humanity. You must make it out, past the perimeter fence, and off this mountain. They will waste fewer resources on you the farther you run. Now go, please." He smiled his genial smile and Clarke hugged him quickly. She had no idea what compelled her to do so, but the old man patted her softly on the back and whispered to her.

"You are brave. So much braver than any of us hiding under this mountain. You _must live_, Clarke Griffin."

* * *

When he returned with water, Finn was awake again; in silence Bellamy cleaned and bandaged the wound, using strips of fabric cut from the tattered pants leg. He stepped back to admire his handiwork. Finn Collins was no longer quite as pretty as he had been when they first landed on Earth, but he was alive and would stay that way for at least a while longer.

"Come on. I have to get you to Clarke." Bellamy hated all the implications of that sentence, but instead of belaboring the point, he fashioned a crude crutch for Finn and helped him stand.

"You good?" he asked gruffly.

Finn took a few experimental strides and nodded. He was staring at Bellamy in confusion and disbelief.

"You could have let it kill me," Finn finally managed. "No one would have ever known. Why didn't you?" Bellamy snorted at the ludicrous question. He turned and started up the hill, fully intending to ignore it.

"Hey! I'm serious, Bellamy! Why save me?" _Because I'm not a killer_, Bellamy thought. He was dragged suddenly back to the memory of another walk in the woods, the day Raven arrived on Earth. He saw Clarke, her cool blue eyes searching out his, peering deep into his soul. _You are not a killer._ It was the day she had judged him and had not found him lacking, the day she had let him know she saw, not the worst of his past, but the potential of his future. He had been fighting toward her belief in that version of him ever since.

Bellamy looked around the darkening forest and considered his answer.

"Call it a debt repaid. You saved my life during the battle at the drop-ship, and now we're even; the slate's been wiped clean. I don't plan on making it a habit, Spacewalker."

The answer quieted Finn, granting Bellamy the silence he so desperately needed. They pushed through the undergrowth, their progress slowed by Finn's unsteady gait. While Bellamy might have half-heartedly considered leaving him before, it was not an option now that the Spacewalker was hurt. He would not abandon anyone injured in the forest at night - even someone he could not stand.

Suddenly Bellamy froze; he waved frantically at Finn to do likewise. A figure was moving toward them through the twilight, and the traveling companions stared at the thing from a nightmare, with its gas mask, rifle, and army-green body suit. It marched past them without even glancing their way, and Finn and Bellamy realized this was a soldier on patrol. They had finally made it to the border of the Mount Weather facility.

* * *

Whatever their misgivings had been, the urgency in Senator Cary's voice had convinced even Harper and Sterling to flee Mount Weather with Clarke. They followed as she led everyone toward the hospital wing. Clarke clutched the Senator's keycard in one hand, preparing to swipe it across the door lock as she had seen the guards do, when she heard the frantic sounds of a caged animal from the nearby room. Cary had said it housed the Grounder who was captured with them…

She peeked in at Anya, dressed in the simple white clothing of the quarantine ward, frantically pacing a bare room. There were no sunny pictures to brighten this space, no sofa for visitors. In place of a hospital bed, a simple pallet rested on the floor in one corner. Apparently whoever had placed her here felt Grounders could not be trusted with nice things.

"Jasper, help me!" Clarke called. She opened the door and Anya looked up, ready to fight to the death. She was not expecting to see the people who had killed her entire army under Tristan's watch.

"Anya, we're leaving. Will you come with us?" Clarke asked. Behind her, Jasper gaped at the sight of the stately commander in her white shirt and shorts. Anya hesitated. It was obvious she could not decide whether to trust the blonde girl who had so recently been her enemy. She appeared to be weighing her options...

Finally Clarke interrupted, feeling time slip through her fingers at this delay.

"Listen. If you stay here they'll kill you. I can get you out. Interested?"

Anya eyed the group outside her door. She saw Miller, and her eyes narrowed suspiciously. But Jasper and Clarke smiled at her encouragingly, and finally she nodded.

"Once we are free, I will leave you," she declared, and Clarke nodded. _No problem._

The group moved like ghosts through the darkened hospital wing, and found the staircase with little difficulty. They were nearly at the top when a claxon sounded and Clarke knew they had been discovered. She thought immediately of Senator Cary - what punishment awaited him now, for his complicity?

* * *

_Why does everything always have to be a discussion?_ Bellamy fumed. It wasn't enough to wait for the guard to make his next circuit, then slip past. Finn had to point out that there must be more soldiers, and that they should probably just watch for a while; he wanted to look for patterns to the patrols, so they could plan the best way to get in and out unnoticed.

It pained Bellamy to admit Finn was right, but he clenched his jaw, swallowed hard, and nodded. He left the injured man hidden behind a large fir - a perfect vantage point from which to time the guard's circuits - and took off to investigate the rest of the Mount Weather perimeter. Finn settled in against the base of the tree and started counting. Through the gloom, he could just make out a tall chain-link fence, and he wondered how Bellamy planned to get through the barrier. It seemed impossible to scale.

When Bellamy finally returned, he was actually smiling. He had made it about a quarter of the way around the fence before he ran into a large gate, and in that span had encountered only one other guard. It seemed likely the entire compound was guarded by a dozen troops at most.

"Wait, you said there's a gate; can we get through there?" Finn whispered. The guard was due for his next pass soon.

"No, that thing's locked up tight. I'm going to head the other direction, see if I can find a weak spot in the fence. How far apart are the patrols?"

Finn held a finger to his lips and gestured toward the fence, and Bellamy sank down behind the tree, waiting in silence until the guard passed.

"They're very consistent, I'll give them that," Finn murmured. "We'll have eight minutes between passes."

"We?" Bellamy looked at him in surprise, finally registering Finn's use of the word.

"I'm going with you."

"No you aren't. You're a liability, Finn. You'd just guarantee _both_ our deaths."

The air rippled between them as they considered their next move. Finn broke the silence.

"I love her," Finn announced, and it was a gauntlet thrown, a challenge to Bellamy and any similar claims he might make.

"Fine!"

"I would_ die_ for her, Bellamy."

Bellamy closed his eyes against the infuriatingly sincere Finn Collins, and shook his head in disbelief. _He would die for her._ Bellamy wished he could claim something so naïve and romantic, but he did not have that kind of luxury. Bellamy Blake knew he had no choice but to _live_ for Clarke Griffin.

* * *

The group rushed the last flight, racing for the door at the top, the one Cary said led to freedom. Clarke swiped his keycard and pushed against the door, but it did not open. She looked at Raven in confusion.

"Let me try," Raven grabbed the card and waved it over the lock. Nothing. She tried tapping it, rubbing it, banging, and eventually cursing at it, but the lock refused to respond. From the back of the group, Monroe let out a cry of surprise.

"Uh, not to rush you, but someone's coming!"

"Clarke, I think the keycard's been disabled!" Raven explained, and they shared a frantic look – which Anya interrupted.

"My turn," she grunted, jumping up and pulling a length of exposed metal pipe from the wall. Sparks flew as the wiring inside was torn free, but Anya barely noticed. She plunged the makeshift tool into the space between the door and its frame, and pushed. After a stunned moment, Clarke turned to those closest the door.

"Help her! Let's go!" Several people jumped forward and together, they pried the door open enough that half a dozen arms were able to squeeze through the space, pushing the door the rest of the way back.

Clarke led the band of terrified escapees as they poured up the crumbling outer steps and found themselves in the middle of the razed Mount Weather Emergency Operations Center. A light snow was falling, and in the cold moonlight the concrete ruins had the shiny glint of an arctic tundra. She looked around wildly, not sure where to run now, knowing only that they needed to get as far away from here as possible.

* * *

Bellamy moved along the fence cautiously, keeping an eye on the guards, searching for some way to break through. Snow began to fall, and he swore at the realization that he would have to be even more careful; he did not want to leave any tracks for the guards to follow. He ached for a change of luck. There had been so few of those, and he needed one now. He needed to find a place where the links had been pried up, perhaps by an enterprising animal in search of food; he could squeeze through, and then…

… And then, what? Bellamy stopped for a moment to examine the space inside. He had been so focused on getting past this latest obstacle, he had not really considered what came after. His eyes squinted at the glowing ruins within, trying to find some sign of where Clarke and the others were being kept. There was almost no sign of life; the guards patrolling the perimeter fence were the only indication that he had the right place.

The harsh call of a siren ripped through the night, and Bellamy watched in confusion as a part of the ruins began to move, a door opened; bodies flowed up and out, blanketing the area in a mass of white. These weren't soldiers; they were…

"Clarke!" His voice rang across the open terrain, and she half-turned.

_She was here._

* * *

The sound of Bellamy's voice echoed through the night, a blazing heat against her flesh, and she almost turned, then shook her head at the impossibility of it.

"CLARKE!" It called to her again; it was real, she was sure now. She searched for the source and there, across an impossibly exposed field, on the other side of a tall fence, she saw something moving, running the length of the barrier, looking for a weak spot, a hole, some way to get to her.

_He was here._

Clarke forgot the world. She forgot the danger, the lives depending on her, the feeling of hopelessness that she had carried for so long. A single bright flame flickered to life within her and she ran for the dark angel on the other side of that fence, ran as fast as she could over the uneven terrain, unable to think or feel but certain now that her life depended on reaching him.

* * *

_No,_ Bellamy thought with despair, _this cannot be happening_. To be so close to her, but unable to get to her… it was the cruelest torture, watching her pulled by the sound of his voice. She glowed, an angel in white; Bellamy and the hot beast within cried out in agony as she ran for him, because there was no way to save her. She and those that followed her would arrive at the fence just in time for the guards to slaughter them all.


	7. Chapter 6

_[A/N: For those of you willing to venture outside the Bellarke universe in search of a good story, I urge you to visit "Stars Fall Silent" by my beta, Marina Black1. It's an Arrow piece but not an Oliver Queen piece, and it's seriously awesome, gang.]_

_[CONTENT WARNING: DEATH.]_

* * *

The guards of Mount Weather had a very specific duty: protect the citizenry from attacks by Rades. Their extensive training centered on keeping people _out_ but really, no one had dared come near the peak in over thirty years. The terrifying "Mountain Man" rumors did half the guards' work for them. For the past decade they had gotten into the habit of posting only skeleton patrols, confident that even in the unlikely event someone came, their superior weapons and training would give them every advantage.

So when the claxon sounded, Lieutenant Matt Berenger radioed back to Headquarters to see where the breach had occurred. He did not believe the answer at first. Slowly, he turned and watched as a river of glowing white specters streamed out of the mountain. _Within_ the fence.

_Shitshitshitshit_, what was the protocol for this? Was there _any_ protocol for this?

The gas masks severely limited peripheral vision; Lt. Berenger swiveled his head, following the figures, searching out their destination. They seemed to be heading for a spot several hundreds yards to his right, which meant they were officially _his_ problem. He spied a woman at the front of the pack, and grunted in surprise. She was _beautiful_. Her flowing hair shimmered faintly in the silver moonlight, and her face was like those ancient marble busts that lined the halls of the government wing – but alive, warm. It took him a moment to recover, and that moment cost Lt. Berenger everything.

He never saw the black attire and glinting blade, never saw Death, made flesh, approach from his blind spot. Lt. Berenger died with a faint smile on his lips and the vision of Clarke Griffin reflected in his eyes.

* * *

Bellamy Blake grabbed the fallen man's rifle and moved swiftly on; he had to buy Clarke and the others time. There seemed to be little reaction from within the mountain so far, but these perimeter troops were another matter. He heard a grunt and a thud from farther along the fence and rushed for the sound. Through the falling snow, Bellamy could just make out a figure – no, two - writhing on the ground.

Finn had tripped a guard with his crutch. Now they were caught in a desperate struggle for control of the soldier's weapon; neither had spied Bellamy. He stepped in and ripped the gas mask off a young, pale face, cracking the butt of his newly acquired gun against the panicked man's temple. The guard fell back, unconscious, and Finn scrambled for the rifle.

"Go. I'll hold them off here," he gasped, sitting up painfully and nursing his wounded leg. All Bellamy's work on those bandages, gone to waste… Bellamy nodded and turned back, thinking once more of Clarke and the others. He watched the uneven ground carefully as he ran. Maybe he could shoot out some links in the fence? Probably not; but desperation had an icy grip on his heart, chilling even the hot beast that had been so helpful just a few minutes ago.

"Bellamy! We have to go! _Now_!" Clarke appeared from nowhere, grabbing his shoulder, pulling him back to the moment. He glanced up in surprise at the sudden realness of her. _How...?_

* * *

As she ran for the fence, Clarke had watched Bellamy fade back into the shadows, and she faltered for a step. _Not possible_; he was definitely real, he had to be. She kept running for the place she had last seen him. From the corner of her eye, Clarke noticed a guard outside the fence, and waited for the shot that would bring her down - but instead there was a rustling, the sound of a body dropping. When she looked again the guard was a lifeless shadow on the snowy ground. _Bellamy_. She allowed a fearful smile and looked back at her friends.

"Any great ideas?" Raven called, sprinting hard nearby. Clarke shook her head. They were rapidly running out of field, and the fence loomed.

When the first dozen or so bodies slammed into the chain link perimeter – and it gave slightly – Clarke and Raven turned and grinned at each other. Who knew it could be that easy? Together, the women started climbing, calling to the others to do likewise. Miller squinted at them in confusion but Jasper understood immediately.

"It's leverage!" he yelled. "Hell yes! Climb, people! As high as you can!"

With the concentrated weight of so many young men and women dragging against it, the century-old metal began to wave gently. It tried mightily to withstand the onslaught, but the teenagers caught a tempo, pulling in and pushing out as the fence rocked under the force, until finally with a groaning of metal against metal the barrier fell and the Mount Weather escapees poured through.

Clarke sought out Anya as people scrambled past, asking a silent question. The warrior stared at Clarke for a moment, then lifted her chin proudly.

"I know the way. I will lead," she said. Clarke gave a grateful nod and turned in search of Bellamy. She ran in the direction of the guard she was certain he had killed for her. When she was almost there Clarke saw a dark figure approaching through the snow. The tiny flame within her chest grew with each step, and it took all her strength to push it down; this was not the time. They had to flee. She could not afford to lose her icy grip on control, or they would all be lost.

"Bellamy! We have to go! _Now_!"

* * *

Bellamy's eyes searched Clarke's face; now that she was so close - now that he could touch her – he was finding it hard to breathe. The hot beast inside lunged up, eager to take control of this moment, and he shook his head, forcing it back just a little while longer. There was so much to be said, and it would all have to wait. _Just a little while longer._

"Are you hurt?" he managed instead.

"No. You?"

Despite the urgency of their situation, Bellamy grinned at her.

"Not a scratch, Princess." Then he remembered, and his face fell. "Finn!"

"Wait, he's here, too?" Clarke looked around in surprise. She had just assumed…

"Come on," Bellamy called, running back along the fence with Clarke in tow. When they got to Finn he had passed out again, his rifle half-buried in the gathering snow.

"God, Bellamy, he's all torn up! What happened?"

"The short version, or the let's get the hell out of here version?" he asked gruffly.

"Right... Come on, help me carry him," Clarke ordered, and they slung Finn's body between them – but not before Clarke grabbed the discarded gun. Bellamy caught the move.

"Badass Princess. I like it," he offered, and Clarke rolled her eyes. Dragging the dead weight of Finn, the pair set off after the rest of their people.

* * *

Anya had no patience for weakness. "Weakness is death." It was one of the first, and most important, lessons she had learned as a little girl growing up in this post-apocalyptic world.

These people who had landed in her forest, and caused such destruction… she had believed them weak. She had also been proven wrong, time after time. And Tristan – arrogant, interloping Tristan and his Rangers – well, that had been his own fault, for not taking the time to listen. In the final test, Tristan had been judged and found wanting. She smiled in grim satisfaction at that thought as she jogged through the dark snowy woods. It was quiet here, halfway down the mountain. It would be easy to assume they were free, to assume the Mountain Men had given up. That was the weakness, fighting its way forward. Anya knew better. She refused to slow the pace, even though there were injuries among those that followed. _Weakness is death_.

Behind her, she heard the one called Miller. He had tried to kill her back in the spaceship. Some day she would repay him for that, but not now. Now, she just listened.

"Do you seriously trust her?" Miller asked Jasper as they scrambled over fallen trees and pushed back snow-laden branches, trying to keep up with the lithe woman cutting a path downhill.

"Um, more than the Mountain Men? Yeah, Miller. For now, I'm very happy to follow the lady taking us _away_ from the creepy soldiers with guns." Jasper didn't bother adding his feelings about whatever had happened to Monty; for one thing, it was hard to talk while moving downhill. He needed to keep his eyes trained on the sloping terrain and endless obstacles.

Miller shook his head and pulled back, allowing the group to pass him as he searched out Bellamy and Clarke. They were near the end, keeping an eye on the slowest members. Bellamy had Finn on his back; the injured man kept slipping in and out of consciousness, and Clarke jogged beside the men, monitoring her patient intently. She looked up as Miller fell in with them, but her face was an inscrutable mask.

"How's everyone doing?" Bellamy huffed. His back was killing him. _Fucking Spacewalker._

"Monroe and Lara got hit; some kind of stun gun." Miller nodded ahead of them, where two of the biggest men had bodies slung over their shoulders. "Everyone else is just cold and tired," he admitted. He offered to carry Finn for a while, and Bellamy happily agreed. The two men paused to make the hand-off; Finn woke up just long enough to insist Miller take his boots. It was only then that Bellamy realized everyone was barefoot and underdressed, racing down a snowy mountain in the middle of the night. His eyes widened as he watched his people slip through the shadows, leaving the four of them behind for a moment - and he shook his head.

"How are we going to do this?" he whispered to Miller.

"We already _are _doing it," Clarke answered impatiently. "Is he okay? We have to keep moving. Cary said we have to get off the mountain." Miller nodded and turned to catch up with the other retreating figures.

"Who's Cary?" Bellamy asked in confusion.

"He's the one who got us out," Clarke began, when suddenly a bullet screamed through the air toward them, and she fell to the ground with a cry.

The world caught fire as Bellamy spun back, searching for the source of the shot. No. He had just gotten her back. He had not even greeted her properly, not had a chance to hold her, tell her how he felt; they deserved more than just this brief moment.

_No!_

He felt time slow, felt the hot heavy beast within him crying out for Clarke, and this time he gave it free rein. He let it guide him, racing back up the hill, finding three masked figures still tracking and firing on escapees. The beast killed two of them quickly, but the third was able to train his rifle on Bellamy before that one, too, was mysteriously cut down. Bellamy looked behind him. Clarke stood a few feet away, weaving slightly, Finn's rifle on her hip.

"I'm badass, remember?" she managed before she collapsed in the snow.

* * *

The sensation of being held and rocked was comforting, but the pain in her left shoulder was not. Clarke cringed, opened her eyes, and gasped in surprise. Bellamy was carrying her down the hill, chasing after the rest of the group.

"I think you confused badass with foolish back there," he chastised her through tight lips.

"Bellamy, you can let me go now."

"Not likely." _Not ever again._

"Bellamy, put me down!" She pushed against his broad chest with her good hand.

"Are you sure?" He stopped; his face in the darkness was difficult to read, but he almost sounded… hurt. Clarke struggled out of his arms. He was too close, too warm, and she was too raw. She needed space. She needed a harder heart. How could she do this, get them all safe, when he was so…

"My arm," she winced, craning her head around for a glance at the spot that stung so much.

"The bullet went right through. I think you passed out from the pain." Bellamy was worried. She searched quickly for a lighter topic, for both their sakes.

"I never really liked these shorts anyway," she finally announced with a smile, looking down at the uneven hem he had left when he cut away a strip of fabric to stop her bleeding. Clarke tried lifting her arm and moaned, and he was there again instantly, standing too close, radiating concern for her. Clarke closed her eyes and scolded the bright little flame that insisted on fighting back so bravely against her will.

"We have to catch up to the others," Clarke managed, setting off down the hill. They were obviously still being hunted. She could not waste more time on this. And most importantly, she could not afford to let him know the effect he was having on her.


	8. Chapter 7

_[A/N: Please send virtual hugs to my AMAZINGLY TALENTED beta, _Marina Black1_, who refused to let me post a much less polished version of this chapter earlier today! Quality control, FTW!]_

* * *

Bellamy shadowed Clarke as she followed after their friends. She kept grabbing at her arm in pain; if she collapsed again, he _would_ be there to catch her.

Clarke huffed at him ever-so-slightly, frustrated by her own physical reaction to the heat of Bellamy's hovering form. It was overbearing, his protectiveness. Funny how she had managed to forget his instinct for dominance, and her constant efforts to push back against it. Really: she was feeling better with every step, and she just desperately needed him to focus that laser attention and concern on someone else for a while.

"Clarke," his voice cut in on her internal rant, and she turned on him, actually angry.

"I'm fine!" she snapped. His eyes narrowed.

"You don't _look_ fine. You look cold. Here," Bellamy's hand was outstretched, offering her his jacket. It was a simple gesture, and it should have been an obvious choice, but Clarke hesitated. Silently he cursed her stubbornness. She could be such a pain in the ass sometimes. She never backed down, from him or anyone. It was fearsome to watch, worse to be on the receiving end; but he would take it, if it was the price for keeping her close.

"Or you could pass out and I'll have to carry you again," Bellamy taunted. She grimaced and grabbed the coat.

"Thank you. And… Sorry," Clarke muttered as she pulled a sleeve gingerly over her injury.

"No need for apologies, Princess," Bellamy answered in his low voice, "Just… stay alive." Clarke finally laughed, a brittle laugh that was more about relieving tension than anything humorous.

"You too," she answered, trying desperately to keep her voice light. He gave her an odd look that suggested maybe she had not hit quite the right note, but said nothing, instead waiting for her to set their pace down the hill.

* * *

"Miller, I'll take him back," Bellamy insisted when they caught up to the group. Yes, he disliked Finn – but after all that had transpired, Bellamy had come to think of the man as _his_ burden, and his alone. He handed over his gun in exchange for Finn's limp body, and asked for an update.

"George caught a bullet back there," Miller noted grimly.

"Well, we took care of them," Bellamy answered as Clarke ran ahead, searching out whoever was carrying the injured teen. Miller realized she was wearing a black jacket over her white tank top; he looked at Bellamy appraisingly. The short-sleeved man shot back a warning look.

"She was hit too. You honestly think _any_ of us stand a chance, if we lose our healer?" he offered defensively. Miller shut his mouth then, but his gaze kept returning to Clarke in a way that Bellamy found irritating. His mood was not helped when she finally rejoined them, her face cloudy with worry for George and her lips pressed tight in determined silence. That could only mean it was more severe than she wanted to share for now.

The ground was finally starting to level, and the snow had stopped, but Anya seemed uninterested in taking any breaks. She clearly had a destination in mind, and Clarke opted to trust the woman's plan. Her feet were freezing, her legs were freezing, but at least Bellamy's jacket kept her warmer than the others. Guilt sliced through her at that thought, and she shrugged off the garment as she jogged, throwing it over the shoulders of a diminutive boy nearby.

"Here Parker, this'll help. We're almost there, okay?" She whispered to him kindly before rejoining Bellamy.

"It's not a free coat, Clarke," Bellamy grumbled. Inside, though, he had to admit that he admired her for giving it away - and to one of the youngest boys under their care.

* * *

"We never crossed the river," Bellamy pointed out several hours later. Clarke looked around and realized it was true; they had been moving steadily across this flatter terrain for a while now, and had not encountered the watery border at the base of Mount Weather.

"That must be because we're heading… uh, South…" Clarke realized. The sun was just starting to peek above the horizon to their left. They knew absolutely nothing of the world to their south. She looked at Bellamy, worried now about where they were being taken, but he shook his head. The Grounder princess was Clarke's pet project; he absolved himself of that confrontation. She shot forward, rushing to Anya's side to ask what, exactly, was going on.

"We have arrived," Anya answered simply, stopping her relentless jog and turning back to the group straggling behind her. She told Clarke to let everyone rest here; she would be back soon. Clarke looked around the broad, overgrown field.

"_This_ is where you're leaving us?"

"The town is just over that rise; I will go to the village leaders and ask their permission to enter."

"Not without me and Clarke," Bellamy asserted, stepping forward and dropping Finn to the ground with a bit less care than Clarke liked to see. The barefoot, white-clad Amazon frowned at his words.

"That is ill-advised. Some of the current residents are migrants from the village your rockets destroyed." She paused, and looked directly at Clarke. "I will not betray you, if that is what _he_ thinks. I owe you my life, and I repay my debts." Anya turned without another word and hurried toward the village.

The two leaders stared after her in silence. Dawn light stole over them, kissing the world with hope, and a warm comfort suffused Bellamy at the feeling of Clarke's strength beside him once again. They might be leading a pack of barefoot homeless refugees through a cold, unfriendly landscape, but as long as they were together, everything else felt manageable.

And then the Spacewalker moaned slightly from his spot on the ground, and Clarke knelt immediately, and Bellamy's jaw tightened at Finn's intrusion on the moment. He spun back to the group, aching for an outlet.

"Monty! Let's get people fed! Is there anything in this field that won't poison us all?" he barked as he stalked away.

Clarke watched him leave, and frowned. He was being smart; people needed to eat. But… it felt so _right_, standing shoulder to shoulder with him again. She shook away the thought and looked down at Finn, who was awake and examining her closely. He smiled through his pain.

"We've really got to stop meeting like this," he joked; Clarke snorted lightly.

"It would help if _you'd_ stop trying to play the hero. Let's take a look, okay?" Clarke turned to remove what few tattered strips still covered his shin, but Finn's hand on hers made her pause.

"Clarke," he began. She sighed and stared down at his injuries.

"How many times do you think I should have to almost lose you, Finn?" she whispered. He swallowed hard, but continued anyway.

"Clarke, I still -"

"Please, just _stop_." Clarke wanted to tell him the truth: that in those days after the battle with the Grounders, when she had curled in on herself and cried for the losses in her life, it had not been Finn she grieved the most. She had done that too often already. She had finally moved past him.

But to say all that would be cruel. Instead, she searched out his eyes, pleading with him silently to release her from whatever bonds he believed they still shared.

"I have to fix this, so it can heal properly, Finn. It's going to hurt." They both knew the words applied to more than his leg. He nodded grimly and turned his face away. He was already hurting, in ways some water and a bandage could not help. Whatever else Clarke did seemed unimportant now.

As she worked on Finn's wounds, others started to line up nearby. Before she knew it Clarke was elbow deep in injuries - and absolutely no supplies. Several men volunteered their white t-shirts for bandages, and Raven settled down beside her quietly, tearing fabric into strips as Clarke offered what little comfort she could.

George was the hardest. He was dying. There was nothing she could do for him out here in the middle of nowhere, and it hurt her to admit it. The other injuries were not terrible – mostly cuts, sprained ankles, and a few cases of mild frostbite, all from the trek. Monroe and Lara were unconscious, but otherwise unharmed. Clarke couldn't understand why their injuries were so much less severe than George's. Sterling, squatting down by Lara and stroking her ginger hair, filled in the missing pieces.

The group escaping Mount Weather had left the door open when they rushed outside; the troops that followed them up the stairwell had stopped at the threshold, as if held by some invisible force. They were the ones who fired on the fleeing figures, hitting the girls.

"They weren't wearing those gas masks and stuff, so I guess they were scared to go outside," Sterling theorized, and Clarke nodded. It also explained the desire to stun, rather than kill; no doubt the troops inside the facility had been given orders to keep everyone alive for "harvesting". Clarke shivered at the thought.

Bellamy's strong hand on her shoulder roused Clarke from the story, and she looked up at him. For a moment there was a softness in his eyes that caused her chest to tighten, but then he glanced over at Finn and his expression changed subtly.

"How is he?"

"Finn? There's a lot of blood loss, but honestly he'll be okay as long as I can get even basic first aid supplies at the village," Clarke admitted. "He's not the one I'm worried about." She stood and led Bellamy to George's side.

George was such a quiet boy that people often forgot he was there, despite his shock of bleach-blonde hair and his bright green eyes. Clarke had only spoken to him on a few occasions, and always about trivial matters. She regretted that immensely now.

Bellamy knelt beside her and his eyes asked the question. She shook her head ever-so-slightly - just as she had done once before, over Atom's body. Bellamy's face hardened and Clarke watched as he fought some internal struggle. He looked down at George.

"Are you in pain?" Bellamy finally asked. The injured boy managed a smile.

"Should I lie?"

"There's no shame in hurting, George. You did good. I'll see if Monty can't find something to help you, though."

"Sure thing." George let his eyes fall closed, and Clarke stood abruptly and walked away, startling Bellamy.

"Hey Princess, are _you_ okay?" His voice was a low concerned murmur at her shoulder. She hugged her arms around herself and a line formed between her brows. Bellamy almost reached up to smooth that little crease.

"We could save him, if we were on the Ark."

"That's dangerous thinking," he warned her. "A lot of things would be different if we were on the Ark. You'd be in prison, for example." _And we would have never met._

"Clarke!" Anya's voice cut across the field, interrupting their conversation.

"I am afraid the leaders have refused to house us overnight," Anya said as she rejoined them, not wanting to waste time. "There are many who do not trust you… and there is fear that the Mountain Men might still pursue us, even here." Clarke and Bellamy shared a gloomy stare. "They _will_ allow us into the village for the day, though. They will clothe us, feed us, and then we must move on."

* * *

The village was what happened when people lived close together for protection, not for comfort or convenience. There were hasty structures built up against the walls of more stable buildings, houses constructed entirely of discarded plastic sheeting and old corrugated metal roofing, and ancient vehicles as make-shift homes; a few skinny dogs picked their way down the street, and terrified faces peered out from darkened interiors. The three village leaders waited in what Clarke decided to think of as the town square, a dusty space sheltered by an expansive walnut tree. The air shimmered with a nervous energy; Bellamy grabbed Clarke's elbow lightly as they approached. He leaned in, his breath a whisper against her neck.

"Careful, Princess. They're jumpy," he murmured into her ear, and she swallowed at the nearness of him, trying to focus on the impending meeting instead. Anya introduced her to Michael. He was a slight man with a dark beard and thoughtful brown eyes. He welcomed Clarke and Bellamy gravely, and explained that they would share whatever spare clothing the villagers had. He invited everyone to gather back at the tree for a meal at mid-day, and just before he dismissed them he apologized for the lack of greater hospitality on the part of his people.

"We cannot protect ourselves from the Mountain Men," he admitted. "We must think of our own, first. But we will extend you what kindness we can, with the understanding that you will leave us in peace after this." He beckoned to several small cabins nearby and a few people emerged cautiously, carrying piles of garments.

Bellamy and Clarke stepped back so the others could pick through the clothes. A feeling of guilt stole over them both at the obvious poverty of this village. Everything worn by the citizens had been patched again and again, and the children peeking around from behind their parents' knees were thin. Too thin. Bellamy looked at Clarke and caught the pain in her eyes, and wanted to fix it for her.

"You can't save everyone, Clarke," he started, but it came out harsher than he had intended. Her eyes flashed in defiance.

"I can try," she shot back. Bellamy shook his head.

"No, that's not what I meant -" but she was already gone, pushing her way toward Michael. Bellamy sighed in frustration as he stared after her.

A tugging on his pants leg finally drew his attention away from Clarke. He looked down into the dark eyes and dirty face of a young girl who _had to be_ named Octavia. The resemblance was too striking.

"Hello," he began, squatting next to her, thankful for the distraction.

"Are you here to kill us?" the girl asked. There was no fear in her voice.

"No, not to kill you. I _was_ thinking of staying for lunch, though. Would that be okay?" he smiled at her.

"Yes. You can sit with me if you want," she offered, and now she became shy, her eyes widening at the forwardness of the invitation. Bellamy laughed, and she giggled back.

"I'd like that," he answered simply. The child reached out to grab his hand as he stood, and he let her pull him toward a group of other children.

* * *

Clarke had moved her patients into a nearby house, and the village's healer came by to offer his assistance. He tended to Clarke's arm efficiently, then together they reviewed the others' conditions. He agreed that the best they could do for George was make him comfortable. Clarke nodded and stepped outside for a quick break, needing to get away from that prognosis before the tears could take over. She leaned against the building's wall until she felt calmer, searching out Bellamy almost instinctively. When she finally spied him, surrounded by a small band of giggling children, that little flame flickered instantly back to life. She shook her head in frustration at its stubbornness.

He looked up and caught her staring. His deep eyes crinkled slightly and his mouth pulled into a delicious grin as he leaned back down to whisper to several of the girls, who turned, mouths gaping open, before rushing toward Clarke.

"You're a _princess_?"

"A for-real princess?"

"Bellamy said you were trapped way up in the sky, like in a fairy-tale!"

"But I heard you're a healer!"

"Wait, how can she be a healer _and_ a princess?"

"I don't _know_ Maeve, that's just what I _heard_!"

"Ohhhh, are you a princess in _secret_?"

Clarke's eyebrows lifted in surprise at the questions, and she shot Bellamy a dirty look… But as the girls tugged her forward, their contagious energy drew out a fleeting smile. Bellamy waited until she had been absorbed into the ball of skinny legs and grimy cheeks and laughter, then shrugged his shoulders in mock helplessness.

"It's not every day they meet a real princess, Princess!" he explained over their heads. She had no chance to answer; there was a call to eat, and the pint-sized mob carried them back toward the walnut tree, where several long tables and benches had been erected and the rest of their friends were finding space.

"I promised Lydia I would sit with her at lunch," Bellamy whispered as they drew close, and a tiny brunette clasping his hand smiled up at Clarke.

"Can Clarke come too, though?" she asked Bellamy.

"Oh I don't know, Lydia, I should probably check with Michael," she answered gently.

"Daddy'll say yes, if _I_ ask," Lydia assured her, and she released Bellamy, racing straight for the bearded man at the base of the tree. Bellamy tilted his head in surprise at the discovery that his new best friend was the leader's daughter.

"Guess I have a thing for princesses," he murmured to himself as he walked toward the father-daughter pair.

Clarke halted, flustered by the comment, until Lydia's voice broke in on her thoughts. The precocious little girl must have worked her magic on the village leader; she was gesturing madly to a space near her at one of the food-laden tables.

It was like meeting Bellamy for the first time, watching him and the young girl. Clarke saw him as he must have been on the Ark with Octavia: kind, generous, patient. He was more relaxed around all the children, really - laughing at their antics and responding to their questions with serious answers. Clarke felt the warmth again, that place in her chest where the little flame was fighting so hard against everything that kept her moving, and she wanted to yell at it to just _give up_. This part of Bellamy she was seeing now, the gentle part that he usually reserved only for his sister – it could ruin everything for her. She almost wished she had chosen to sit with Michael and Anya after all.

Bellamy's hand snaked behind Lydia and found the small of Clarke's back, and her breath caught in her throat. Oh, the touch of him was _so_ much worse.

"Are you going to eat?" he asked her. "You've taken care of everyone but yourself, Clarke. It's your turn to take a break." Clarke glanced down at her full plate in surprise, and a sudden wave of hunger struck her.

The act of sharing a meal broke down some of the boundaries between the villagers and the Mount Weather refugees. The fall sun slipped past the noon meridian unnoticed; people clustered together at the tables or on the ground under the walnut tree enjoying a brief respite and friendly conversation. Clarke and Bellamy remained at their table, happy to let the others chat and play. The silence between them was comfortable, and Bellamy risked a glance at Clarke, not wanting to break the magic of a moment in which she had actually let her guard down. A whisper of a smile played at the edges of her lips, and he watched from the corner of his eye, hoping it would grow. She had smiled at the little girls earlier, a real smile, the kind he had not seen from her in far too long. He wanted that smile again, for purely selfish reasons.

Lydia, who was quickly losing interest in play-acting at being a grown-up, tapped Clarke enthusiastically on her shoulder and the spell was broken.

"So if you're the princess, is Bellamy the prince who saved you?" she sounded both intrigued and a little jealous. Clarke blushed and tried to avoid getting pulled in by the dark eyes of the suddenly very attentive Bellamy. She failed miserably.

"I don't -" she began, but she floundered as she watched him, trapped by something in his expression, a heat that scared her and sent her pulse racing.

"Real princesses don't need anyone to save them, Lydia," Bellamy cut in, effectively rescuing Clarke from the question. He kept her gaze, though, just a few moments longer.

"Bellamy is a friend," Clarke added, finally cutting away to look down at the little girl between them.

"Yeahhhh... I don't think so," Lydia said, sliding down below the table and crawling back out under the bench. She turned back to them with a face like she had been forced to eat live bugs. "I have lots of friends. And that is _not_ how we look at each other." And with that she ran off, calling to her playmates under the walnut tree.

* * *

_**** OH MY GOSH! All the love. Thank you all so much for ALL the LOVE! I actually just hope that this longer chapter lives up to everyone's expectations - now I'm seriously super nervous that you'll hate it, gang! Please let me know your thoughts, please. AND I LOVE YOU ALL SO, SO, SOOO MUCH. ****_


	9. Chapter 8

_[A/N: "Wait, what happened here? She just posted Chapter 7! How could Chapter 8 be posting so quickly?" Well... **REVIEWS!** You were all so, SO generous with your reviews and comments! And the Muses have responded in kind. And please, take a moment to acknowledge the hard work of my endlessly talented beta, _Marina Black1_, who puts up with my crazy writing schedule while simultaneously posting her own very awesome piece, "Stars Fall Silent". Seriously, one amazing woman!]_

* * *

Clarke fled to the house where her patients were resting. She stopped at the threshold, remembering Finn was inside, and tried to think of some way to escape for just… just a moment… just long enough to breathe properly and recover from Lydia, from Bellamy…

"Clarke? You okay?"

_Raven._ Clarke sighed in relief at her friend's voice.

"What are you doing over here?" Clarke asked as she turned; she noticed several plates balanced on Raven's arms.

"Martin and I were getting lunch for everyone," the brunette answered, using her head to gesture toward the healer walking up the road behind her. His arms were also laden with food. Clarke blushed at forgetting such an important part of her patients' care.

"You never answered me," Raven persisted.

"I'll be fine. I just need some space," Clarke offered dismissively.

"From…?"

"Men?"

Raven gave her a sympathetic smile.

"Let me drop off this food and then we'll get out of here, okay?" Clarke nodded gratefully at the invitation. She waited outside for Raven, but when she heard the sound of voices suddenly raised in anger it drew her through the doorway. Clarke found Finn and Raven in the middle of a heated dispute. Martin was backing slowly away from the angry pair.

"What's going on?" she asked him as he neared.

"Is it presumptuous to suggest a lovers' quarrel?" the quiet man offered as explanation.

"No, it's probably pretty close," Clarke assured him. She moved forward, ready to jump in if needed.

"- stopped being your business a while ago, Finn!" Raven finished with a huff.

"I'm not trying to be -" Finn tried, but he was cut off.

"_Yes_! Yes, you are! You're trying to be Finn the Protector, and that's not your job anymore! I don't need it, and I sure as hell don't want it!" There was real pain in the mechanic's voice, and tears threatened to spill over. Clarke decided it was time to stop whatever was happening between the pair.

"Raven, is there something -"

"Back off, Clarke!" Raven struck out at her in anger.

"What's going on here?" The women turned to the doorway, where Bellamy was standing with a cup of tea Monty had brewed for George. He handed it to Martin and strode forward, glaring at Finn, certain the Spacewalker had been the cause of some new problem that Bellamy would have to clean up for him.

"I'd like answers. Now," he ordered, and Finn and Raven looked at each other briefly, then both started speaking at once. Clarke's brow furrowed as she tried to catch bits and pieces. Bellamy crossed his arms and cleared his throat, silencing the ex-lovers temporarily.

"Ok. Let's try again. Raven?"

"Well first of all _you're_ a fucking idiot for over-sharing, but that's a fight for another time. Right now Finn's just being a possessive asshole, that's all," Raven spat. Bellamy gave her a look that very clearly said "what else is new", then turned to Finn.

"Raven and I were chatting about some of your recent conquests, Bellamy. You want to join the conversation?" Finn clarified. He looked murderous.

Bellamy took a step back; Clarke took a step forward. Finn spied the movement, and his face fell. The only reason for Clarke to look that concerned was if the conversation mattered to her. And there was only one reason the conversation could matter. It made no sense. How had Bellamy managed to distort reality around himself so_ completely_ that two strong, intelligent women had fallen for his act?

For her part, Raven caught a flicker in Bellamy's features, a moment of uncertainty as he glanced Clarke's way; her eyes widened in comprehension.

"This whole argument is pointless," Finn finally declared. "Just get the hell out of here, Bellamy."

"You don't give me orders, Spacewalker," Bellamy began hotly, but Clarke stepped in and held up one hand to stop him.

"No, he doesn't. But I do," she asserted. Bellamy's eyes searched her face and he moved in, doing it again: standing just a little too close, throwing off her equilibrium.

"No, wait; Clarke, I need to talk to you," he pleaded in a low voice.

"I have patients to care for, Bellamy. You've got to leave." She expected a battle; she expected a snide comment or a flat-out refusal. Instead he shot Raven a strange look and complied silently. Clarke heaved a sigh and crossed her own arms as her gaze panned around the unsettled room. Several people were staring at them, transfixed; others looked like they desperately wanted to escape the tension filling the makeshift clinic. Martin had long ago disappeared.

"Clarke, I think you and I have some things to discuss," Raven piped up. She grimaced. This was not going to be fun.

* * *

Bellamy, Jasper, and Miller were beneath the old walnut tree, poring over a wrinkled map of Michael's, when Clarke stalked past in a temper. Bellamy excused himself from the debate over the next leg of their journey, and joined Clarke on her silent, tense walk. They were nearing the far edge of town when his patience finally gave out. He grabbed Clarke's hand, pulling her to a stop. She whirled back on Bellamy in anger but his other hand reached up to her face, his thumb caressing the line of her jaw. It was an unexpected, unfair move; her heart betrayed her, beating violently against her ribs.

"Clarke." His voice was rough, and heavy with a thousand other unspoken words. She found herself entranced by him, by his heady scent and curls and boyish freckles – such a stark contrast to the endless depth of his dark eyes. It was like falling, staring into those eyes.

...When Bellamy bent toward her, still gazing deep into her soul, she was unprepared. His mouth brushed against hers hesitantly; the warmth of his lips set Clarke's ablaze. She felt herself melting, giving in...

She had to stop him.

"_No_! Just – no."

She pushed away quickly, remembering the sting of the confession Raven had just shared. Clarke shook her head to clear her thoughts. How many different ways could this one man bring her pain?

"You _died_, Bellamy." His jaw tightened and he looked like he might try to speak. She rushed on before he could interrupt, finally unleashing the anger and the terrible aching sadness she had internalized after the Mountain Men captured her and the others.

"I watched you fighting with that man Tristan. And after… there were just bodies. _Everywhere_, Bellamy! And you left me to deal with the aftermath of all that loss._ By myself_." She yanked her hands away from his. Everything was ruined now. She had built a brittle new life over a pieced-together heart, and he had smashed it in less than twenty-four hours. The hard, protective part of her had to fight back, wanted to hurt him.

"You were right earlier, with Lydia. I don't need to be rescued, not anymore! I told you I needed you, and in the end it made no difference. I still had to save myself, _and_ everyone else!" Her voice choked but she fought on. "Now you want to step back in like nothing is different?... _Everything_ is different. I'm different, Bellamy! Because you died, and I had _no choice_ but to keep on living - without you." Clarke felt tears falling and swiped hastily at her cheeks.

She glared up at him and that hard part of her felt bitter triumph at the destroyed look in his eyes. He had no idea what pain _was_. Pain was breathing and eating and sleeping when your heart had shattered, and the icy shards dug into the raw cavity of your chest relentlessly, day after day, with no hope of relief.

Clarke turned and walked away, still too upset. What was he hoping for from her? She had lost him, patched herself up, then found him again, only to discover it had all been an illusion. Raven had been picked first after all.

She searched within herself for that stubborn little flame and crushed it mercilessly, daring it to try again.

_No more._

* * *

Michael approached Miller and Jasper under the walnut tree, Lydia in tow.

"Where is Bellamy?" the bearded man asked, surprised by the charismatic leader's absence. Miller glanced at Jasper and smirked.

"Woman trouble," he explained. Michael smiled and shooed Lydia away before continuing.

"Yes, I saw them together earlier. Clarke is very strong, but that often comes at a price," he noted. Jasper nodded heartily in agreement with the observation. "In her case, I truly hope the cost will not prove too high."

"Michael! I have been looking for you," Anya interrupted, calling out as she strode toward them. She looked more herself, now that she had been outfitted in a long dark skirt and fur-lined jacket. Jasper gulped at the terrifying sight. Michael noticed, and winked.

"Strong women," he whispered conspiratorially before turning to welcome Anya.

"We have overstayed ourselves," she explained. "I will gather everyone so we can leave immediately."

"Anya, it is fine. The leaders of this village originally gave permission for you to stay longer. The problem lies with my own people, and I can convince them you need just a bit more time. They will accept it." Michael's voice was soothing; Anya relaxed her stance slightly.

"I thought _you_ were in charge here?" Jasper asked, confused. Michael shook his head.

"No. I am not originally from here. I am the last remaining leader of a small town a half-day's walk away. See? Right there." He pointed to a spot on the map Miller was holding. "You launched the rockets that set my home on fire. We lost most of our people that night. After, there was so little left that we decided not to rebuild. And there were… painful memories… for too many of us." Anya stepped forward and for a moment, her features softened as she put a comforting hand on Michael's shoulder as he continued.

"Because my people have suffered the most at your hands, the leaders of this village felt we also had the most right to decide your fate. That is why I was selected to speak on behalf of both communities today."

"Wait – can we go back to the part about rockets? What rockets?" Raven had stolen up on them while Michael was speaking, and now she interrupted, troubled by the story.

"Clarke did not tell you?" Anya frowned. "You fired on several of our towns. It was your first act of war."

"No we didn't!" Raven snorted. "We've _never _had that capa… – oh, holy shit, the flares!" She paled as the dots connected. "But Anya, those weren't attacks! We were trying to signal everyone back on the Ark!"

"It hardly matters now, does it?" the elegant warrior shot back. "You killed a great many people."

Raven clasped her hands to her mouth and her eyes filled instantly with tears.

"I didn't know, oh Michael, I am _so_ sorry…" she apologized, not sure what to say or do, but feeling the weight of the deaths on her soul. The rockets had been her idea, and they had not even worked. _Stupid, pointless waste of time._ She had given Bellamy such grief for the culling on the Ark, without realizing she had done basically the same thing here on Earth.

Michael patted the crying girl on the back, a sad smile on his face.

"Thank you for your sympathy. Unfortunately, we must now all live with the consequences of those actions. And I am afraid you will encounter mostly fear and hatred in this region." He sighed and for a moment, it seemed as though a great weight was pressing down on him.

Clarke joined the group just as Michael finished. Bellamy was not far behind. Raven wiped her face quickly and searched Clarke's features. She looked as miserable as Raven had ever seen her, and Bellamy's jaw was tight with reined-in emotion; he refused to meet Raven's eye. _So, __that__ conversation must have gone well,_ Raven thought to herself. She worried it might affect their ability to work together, but for now at least Clarke was all business.

"We're going to the coast," she declared immediately. Anya shook her head.

"No, that is not wise. It is a very long journey, and you have too many with injuries. We will continue South. There is warmer weather, and many of the villages will help us."

"Clarke's right," Bellamy interjected. Clarke frowned at his intrusion. "We have people expecting us at the ocean, and we need to meet up with them."

"It is a fool's errand under the current circumstances," Anya shot back. Bellamy turned from her and tried to catch Clarke's eye, but she was not feeling so generous just yet.

"Octavia is there," he nearly begged her.

"Don't worry. We're going," Clarke asserted, although she kept her gaze fixed on Anya.

"May I offer a suggestion?" Michael intervened. "If you have to meet others on the coast, by all means go there. Anya is right, though. The journey is not easy, and your wounded cannot make the trip. I will discuss this with the village elders, and propose we keep them here. Once their injuries allow for travel, we will send them after you, with a guide."

"Won't that put you in danger? Hiding our people?" Clarke asked him.

"To hide seventy-three is very difficult, but I believe we will manage just fine with seven," Michael assured her.

"Clarke?" Miller had been quiet until now, but he could not hold his tongue any longer. He beckoned her over, and Bellamy followed.

"You can't just leave our people here," he said. "They could all be killed in their sleep."

"Miller, Anya trusts them. And I trust them," Clarke explained simply.

"But Anya tried to kill us all, too!" Miller retorted in frustration. It felt like he was communicating through a fog, explaining something so basic to Clarke. "She's not our friend! Her entire army tried to wipe us out not that long ago!"

"But she _also_ saved our lives!" Clarke responded. She stopped and took a deep breath. "We have to get to Octavia, and this is the only way." Miller's eyes narrowed in anger and he looked for an ally.

"Bellamy, you know we can't trust the Grounders. Can't you get your girlfriend here under control?"

It was the wrong question. Miller suddenly found himself pinned to the bark of the tree, Bellamy's forearm pressed into his windpipe. There was something hot and dangerous in the taller man's eyes, but his voice was low and steady.

"If you have a better solution, by all means share with the class. But until then we follow her plan."

"Bellamy!" The warning in Clarke's voice cut through to him and he released his grip. She rushed forward to check on Miller, who was holding his throat and staring at them both mutinously.

"I'm staying, then," Miller declared. "I'll keep an eye on everyone, and when it's time, I'll bring them to you." His face said plainly that he felt he was being forced to make up for Bellamy and Clarke's shortcomings.

Anya looked at Miller, then the two leaders, and knew she had been overruled.

"Fine. We will do it this way. But I will stay as well." She turned to Michael. "I brought these people to you, I should be the one to look after them." He smiled broadly and nodded.

"It would be our honor to have you stay with us."

"Grounder Princess can stay too if she wants; I'm still not going without them," Miller declared. Clarke shrugged her shoulders in defeat.

"Do what you have to, Miller. The rest of us leave in an hour." With that, she left to check on her patients one last time.

* * *

"Finn, do you still have that map of Lincoln's?" Clarke asked as she stepped through the doorway.

"I… sort of. Why?"

"We're leaving."

"Finally," Finn sighed in relief. "I was starting to worry." He tried to stand but had little success; Clarke rushed forward to catch him before he fell, grunting under his weight. Finn could not help a small smile at the tight warmth of her arms encircling him.

"Love your bedside manner, doc."

"You're not going with us," Clarke clarified, ignoring the comment as she helped him sit. "None of the people in this room are; we'd never make it. Miller and Anya will stay behind with you and in a few days, you'll all follow." Finn swallowed hard as he processed her meaning. He hated the thought of her traveling into an unknown world without him.

"Finn?... I need the map?" Clarke's hand was outstretched before him, and he nodded dumbly, reaching into his jacket pocket to pull out a crumpled sheet torn from Lincoln's journal.

"It's not in the best condition," he warned her.

"It's…" Clarke's eyes widened as she carefully unfolded the mangled paper. "No, it's… I can… I'll make it work."

"How? It's almost useless." He felt terrible.

"No, I can fix it, Finn, really. I saw the map when Lincoln first showed us; I remember a lot of it, and I'm sure Anya and Michael can help, too."

She turned away without saying goodbye, still studying the remnants of the drawing, and bumped into Sterling in the doorway.

"Sorry Clarke," he mumbled as he stepped aside. She glanced up quickly and did a double-take. The normally happy teenager was a sad mess.

"Sterling? You okay?"

"I came to say goodbye to Lara," he answered with a little shrug. Clarke paused in the doorway, curious. She watched him settle down beside the sleeping redhead, his hand gathering up hers tenderly. He started talking to her, explaining that he would not be there when she woke up but that he would be waiting for her, that he was leaving his heart with her for safe-keeping, and it was her job to bring it back to him. The scene was so intimate that Clarke wished she could give them some way to be alone, if only for a moment.

"They're cute together," a low voice observed quietly from just over her shoulder, and she jumped. She had not heard him arrive, but now the presence of Bellamy flooded Clarke's senses. She bit her lip, trusting herself only to nod. They stood together a moment longer before she felt him shift, felt the warmth as he leaned in to whisper.

"I know how he feels."

At that she finally turned, her eyes pleading with him to stop.

"Fight if you want, Princess. I'm not giving up on you."


	10. Chapter 9

_[A/N: I love feedback! I LOVE FEEDBACK. And when I get it, I just... I can't help it, I want to write more. And I keep getting such great feedback! Luckily my beta, _Marina Black1_, is a damn BEAST with turnaround. So anyway, I'm just going to leave this little "thank you" chapter right over here...]_

* * *

Lydia leaned against the table beside Clarke. She gazed intently at the paper onto which Clarke was transferring Lincoln's tattered map.

"No, that doesn't look right. See? This line's all squiggly over here, but _you_ made it kind of straight," the little girl pointed out helpfully. Clarke sighed and set her pencil down.

"Lydia, I really need to get this done quickly, okay? We're already so far behind schedule. Isn't your dad around? Or your mom?"

"My mom died when I was born. And Daddy's busy right now," Lydia explained matter-of-factly, setting her elbows on the table and tucking her chin into the hammock made by the palms of her hands. She stared up at Clarke, clearly still awestruck. "It's just you and me for now."

Clarke stared back. Lydia was persistent; the two of them appeared to be at an impasse. And it was true: Bellamy was helping coordinate supplies with Michael, and Raven seemed determined to stay out of Clarke's way this afternoon. It really was just Clarke and Lydia, stuck together in Martin's tiny kitchen.

"Bellamy says we're the two most stubbornest princesses ever," the little girl announced, breaking the silence.

"I think Bellamy has a lot of nerve calling other people stubborn." Clarke reached for her pencil again.

"Bellamy also says it's okay to be stubborn though, because stubborn can keep you safe." At that, Clarke narrowed her eyes thoughtfully.

"Hm. And why are you and Bellamy talking about all this, exactly?"

"His sister… Octavia?" The girl's face puckered as she worked to remember the name. "Bellamy says she's waiting for him at the ocean. He says I'm kind of like her." Clarke laughed despite herself.

"Yes, you are a lot like her." She bent over the map again, but Lydia was not quite done.

"Bellamy says -"

"Lydia, the world does not revolve around what Bellamy says!" Clarke cut in, exasperated. She closed her eyes briefly, searching for calm. "Okay... Let's try this." She leaned toward the girl conspiratorially. "Can you pass on a message for me?" Lydia's chest swelled at the thought of being given an important mission, and she nodded gravely, her eyes wide.

* * *

"Clarke says you talk too much."

Bellamy looked down at the small brunette in confusion.

"Sorry?" He paused in the middle of packing spare gear into a bag. "I don't understand."

"She also says you have a lot of nerve calling other people stubborn."

"Oh, does she?" Bellamy smiled and squatted down beside Lydia. "Well. Would you be willing to take a message back to her?"

* * *

"Bellamy says a princess should know the difference between stubborn and afraid."

... ...

"Clarke says you have a lot of opinions about princesses that you should probably just keep to yourself."

... ...

"Bellamy says it's fine to be afraid, but that princesses aren't supposed to let fear rule their hearts."

... ...

"Clarke says don't you have enough to worry about?"

... ...

"Bellamy says you do plenty of worrying for everyone."

... ...

"Clarke says that's what's keeping us all alive. Um, Bellamy, I don't -"

_... ..._

_Sigh._ "Bellamy says brave princesses don't lock themselves in towers. Okay, really, what does that one even mean? Who would _ever_ want to lock themselves in -"

... ...

"Clarke says you don't know when to give up."

"Wait! … _How_ did she say it?" Bellamy turned away from his counting to watch Lydia intently.

"Huh? I don't know what you mean."

"Was she happy, angry, sad?"

"Oh. Um, she sighed, kinda like this…" and Lydia raised both shoulders and exhaled in a dramatic rendition of a frustrated Clarke.

... ...

"Bellamy says never."

"Hold on," Clarke tried to remember the last couple exchanges, and furrowed her brow. "Never what? That doesn't even make any sense."

"I _told_ him that, but he wouldn't _listen_!"

... ...

"You're just using that little girl, Bellamy," Clarke's rough voice preceded her through the open doorway. He glanced up from the workbench but stayed seated, trying hard to focus on her words. She had finally picked out new clothes, including a pretty blue V-neck sweater that set her eyes aglow. Bellamy cleared his throat before trusting himself to speak.

"I could say the same of you. In fact, I should. You started it," he answered mildly. She stepped back and he could almost see her realizing he was right.

"Well, at least I didn't confuse the poor kid. She's wandering around asking people what princess has ever locked herself in a tower!" Color rose in her cheeks even as she said the words, and Bellamy caught it. He decided to press the point.

"I'd say we _both_ know the answer to that one, don't we, Princess?"

"It's a bullshit metaphor." She crossed her arms protectively. The movement caused a violent tug inside Bellamy's chest, the smoldering beast begging for release, aching to tear down those frosty walls of hers. Clarke caught just a glimpse, something burning in his eyes, before he was able to shut it down.

"Clarke, I told you: I won't give up. There's more here, and I _know_ you know that." He stood as he said it, desperate to be near her, hungry for another taste of her lips, however fleeting.

"You could be wrong," she pointed out as he drew closer.

"I'm not wrong." He was inches from her now. "I promise not to hurt y -."

"_Raven_."

She hurled it at him with every ounce of strength she had, and stared him down, daring him to try and make another empty promise.

"That's not fair. Clarke, it was..." Bellamy searched for the right word, a way to help her see how much he regretted it, had regretted it even then.

"It was a mistake."

He wanted to point out that she was off with Finn at the time, that Raven had made it sound like the two of them were… he shook his head to clear away the image, and Clarke picked up the conversation where he had stopped.

"A mistake. Exactly. I get it; I know all about mistakes, Bellamy. And I can't afford to be your next one." She slammed a sheet of paper against his chest. "This is the closest thing we have to a map. See if Michael and Anya can fill in any missing pieces," she ordered before slipping away again.

* * *

With the sun sinking in the sky behind them, Bellamy and Lydia said their goodbyes. Clarke walked away from the emotional moment, and the pair paused to watch her go.

"Bellamy, why is she so sad?"

"I hurt her, kiddo." His voice was low and gruff, and Lydia slipped her hand into his reassuringly.

"How?"

"Oh, a couple ways. I guess the worst one, though, was when I died." Lydia thought about that answer.

"And now you're back."

"Yes… but I think the damage is already done." The girl's eyes widened and she nodded. One advantage to having no mother, and a busy father, was the lack of supervision. Lydia spent a lot of time hanging around where she shouldn't, and she had a vast, albeit oddly-pieced-together, reservoir of knowledge on adults and their problems.

"Martin says most injuries heal best if they're left alone and given time," she offered. Bellamy sighed and his brows knit together.

"How much time, do you think?"

"I don't really know. But Jena's mom says everything feels better with a kiss, so I guess that's an option, too," Lydia added, although her tone was laced with suspicion at the validity of this argument. Bellamy grinned.

"Jena's mom sounds like a wise woman to me."

* * *

Assuming they made excellent time, there were four grueling days of walking in store for the sixty-six travelers. Realistically, it would be a week if they were lucky. Bellamy pushed hard for the first few hours, though, anxious now to reach Octavia.

Raven jogged up beside him, her dark eyes telegraphing her frustration.

"Clarke says we need to stop for the night; everyone's exhausted. _I say_ I'm not your fucking messenger, and you two need to do… whatever you need to do… to fix this."

"Raven, we've barely left the village. At this rate we'll never get there. Let's just get another few miles behind us before we make camp. Tell her -"

"Like I said, I'm not your fucking messenger. I thought I was clear. You have something to say, you tell her yourself." Raven watched Bellamy struggle with her ultimatum. Finally he sighed and commanded Jasper and Monty to keep up the pace, then slipped toward the back of the group. Raven smiled and fell in step with the two friends.

"_Finally_," she sighed. "I honestly thought I was going to be stuck running back and forth between them all night." Monty frowned.

"What's going on?" He had spent the day with several of the village's growers, getting information on the plants they might encounter as they moved through the Piedmont region. It had felt really good, being useful to the group again; but now he realized he had missed out on some drama.

"The Bellamy and Clarke tension is at an all-time high," Raven offered. "It's crap timing, though, because now we're all gonna die in the middle of nowhere while they're busy not speaking to each other."

"That's very comforting, Raven, thank you," Jasper grumbled.

"Well, I kind of get where Clarke's coming from," Monty piped up. "She thought he was dead. That's gotta be hard." Raven stopped short, and Jasper walked right into her. She seemed to barely notice.

"She thought… he was… _dead_… Ohhh-holy-shit…"

Jasper shot Monty a quick "do you understand women? Because…" look and then tapped Raven on the shoulder.

"Um, would you mind explaining?"

"Actually I would mind. Oh god, I messed up - and not even in the way I thought I did. Sorry guys, I gotta go!" She took off again, calling out as she ran, "Clarke! Hang on! I'm an _idiot_!"

When she found them, the leaders had fallen behind the rest of the group; they were staring at each other stubbornly, neither willing to give ground. Raven was tempted to bang their heads together, or slap them, but opted for yelling instead.

"Seriously you two, get it together before we all die out here!" She began, and they turned on her, both sets of eyes blazing. _Okay, they agree on being angry at me, at least. That's a start... I guess._

"Bellamy, get to the front. We'll go another half hour, but that's it; then you find somewhere to camp. Clarke, you and I need to chat."

After Bellamy had disappeared, Raven turned on her blonde friend.

"I really _am_ an idiot... But so are you."

"Raven, what the hell?!"

"Well, you are. Did you _ever_ stop to wonder why he said yes to me, that night? Did you ever think that maybe he felt hurt, and just wanted to hurt you back?"

"Good for him, then. Because it worked."

"No, it didn't! And that's the main reason you're an idiot," Raven said. "You're using me as an excuse, Clarke."

"This is a really terrible apology, if that's your goal," Clarke shot back, exasperated.

"Okay, look - I'm sorry I slept with Bellamy, _believe_ me." Raven couldn't quite let it go at that, though. "Even though you weren't together then, and you aren't together now, _and_ you slept with Finn," she added quickly.

"Raven, I told -"

"Yeah I know, sorry - we're not even talking about that. I figured I'd throw it in to remind you," Raven confessed. "It just… it still sucks. But my point is, I didn't do anything wrong, and neither did Bellamy. I should have realized it earlier. You're barely angry at me at all. But you're _so damn_ pissed at him! And I think I know why." Raven put her hand on Clarke's arm, and looked her straight in the eye.

"It's because you thought he was dead, and you've lost literally _everyone_ you ever loved, and you took his death as proof that you're… I don't know, cursed or something. Now suddenly he's just magically alive - and you think if you let him back in, he's going to die all over again. Only next time it will be for real."

Clarke sank onto a fallen log and stared at Raven in amazement.

"How did …"

Raven sat down beside her and smiled sadly.

"The bad news is, he _will_ die, and you can't stop it. We all will. It's what happens," she pointed out, wrapping an arm around her friend and waiting as Clarke choked back a sob.

"You have a terrible bedside manner, Raven," Clarke finally managed through her tears.

"Well, engines don't usually care what I say to them, so I don't have a whole lot of practice," she admitted. The girls sat together, letting night steal over their silent forms.

"Hey, Clarke… Can I ask you a question?"

"I doubt I could stop you," Clarke pointed out.

"Have you tried to see it from his side?"

Clarke frowned.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, Bellamy chased you all the way to Mount Weather, with no clue what would be waiting for him when he got there. And he carried my dumb-ass ex-boyfriend half the way, too. Maybe you should just talk to him. - Or better yet, you might want to try _listening,_ for a change."


	11. Chapter 10

_[A/N: Please show my amazing beta the love! _Marina Black1_: she's awesome. Among other things, she has written two wild and crazy pieces for The 100 ("Hurt" and "Perdition"), an awesome Sladicity piece for Arrow ("Thicker then Blood"), and is currently working on a new VERY hot Arrow piece called "Stars Fall Silent". Woof!]_

* * *

The world was pale and flat with early morning fog when Clarke finally found Bellamy, seated at the base of a slender tree. He had spent most of the night watching over the odd collection of tents that sprinkled this wide ghostly field. She tucked one leg under herself as she settled carefully onto an ancient stone wall a few feet away, and watched him quietly for a while. Bellamy waited to see why she had sought him out, when she had spent so much of yesterday evening avoiding him.

"How long has it been since you slept?" she began.

"I'm fine."

"Everyone else got at least an hour or two yesterday in the village. You haven't stopped moving since…" Clarke frowned. "Really, Bellamy, when?" He gazed out across the expansive meadow as he thought about how to answer her, how much to share.

"I lost track of time after the battle at the drop-ship. I don't know exactly how long I was out, just that it was too long," he confessed. Bellamy ran a hand over his face quickly. When he spoke again, it was a pained whisper, the beginning of an apology he would be making for the rest of his life. "I should have gotten to you sooner."

She opened her mouth to shoot off a quick retort, but Raven's words of the night before stopped her. Instead, she looked around them at this foreign world, open in every direction and hazy in the silver mist. It had a stark, terrifying beauty to it, and she shivered.

"I miss the forest. Even though basically everything there tried to kill us, every day… This place feels like you could fall off. There's nothing to hold you down." Clarke shook her head. "I'm not explaining it well."

"It's the sky. It's too big," Bellamy filled in for her, understanding. They had grown up on the Ark, a completely enclosed world; the only wide open thing they had ever known was the frozen blackness of space. He shifted slightly and pointed through the fog, toward dark jagged peaks at the Eastern horizon. "We have more forest ahead of us today. We should try to get through the mountain pass by midday. How is everyone? Will they make it?"

"A good night's sleep probably helped. We'll do it. We have to." They sank into silence, and after a while Bellamy leaned against the tree and closed his eyes. Clarke smiled: knowing she would keep watch finally gave Bellamy the comfort he needed to sleep.

* * *

"Do you think they're okay?" Jasper asked quietly, staring out from the open flap of the tent he was sharing with Monty, a still-gently-snoring girl named Zoe, and the currently absent Raven. Beside him, Monty rolled up onto an elbow and watched the dark-haired man and flaxen-haired woman upon whom they were all relying.

"I think it's like Raven said. They _have _to be okay, or we're all dead."

"I don't think I'm cut out for dead," Jasper admitted.

"You're not."

The boys looked at each other and a silent, mischievous grin spread over both their faces.

"I'll find Raven and tell her the plan," Jasper offered immediately. Monty nodded.

"I'll start mapping out phase one," he replied. The two friends needed no further conversation; they'd learned how to read each other long ago. Jasper slipped out in search of the pretty, slightly scary mechanic, and Monty reached for his bag, where he had stashed a small notebook and stub of pencil.

Jasper caught up to Raven as she was refilling her water bottle in a nearby stream.

"Monty and I need to talk to you," he began without hesitation. "It's about Bellamy. And Clarke."

Raven narrowed her eyes and tilted her head suspiciously.

"What are you two plotting?" she asked.

"Only the single greatest effort in the history of matchmaking," Jasper declared proudly. Raven shook her head vehemently.

"No. _No way_ in hell! You two don't know what you're getting into. I refuse to let you do something stupid. It's a bad idea."

"Oh, it's happening. And it's genius. Trust us."

* * *

Raven's hands were on her hips and her chin jutted forward in a disapproving manner as she listened to Jasper and Monty outline their plan over breakfast. After, she was silent for so long Monty actually started backing away carefully in fear.

"I was right. This is very stupid. You'd fuck it up, and make everything much, much worse," she finally announced.

"So you'll help, then," Jasper half-asked, half-stated. Raven sighed and rolled her eyes.

"_No_. And you better promise me you're scrapping the whole thing." She looked from one man to the other. "Promise me now, or I _will_ tell Bellamy." Her eyes narrowed. "…and Clarke." The best friends gulped at that, and nodded.

"We promise."

* * *

Bellamy had added some notes to Clarke's map based on Michael and Anya's advice, even though he felt guilty doing it. Her drawings were beautiful, and his writing seemed clumsy and out-of-place next to those delicate sketches. He glanced at the paper once more before folding it into his pocket and moving on. As plans went, this one was relatively simple: due East until they ran out of land. Clarke and Bellamy's initial concerns about traveling so far South had proven misguided. Anya's route to freedom had not really affected them at all. The most difficult leg of their journey was likely to be around the old capital of the United States of America. It was a major target during the war, and Bellamy had been warned by several well-meaning villagers that the area was a desolate wasteland and they should put it behind them as quickly as possible.

Clarke was still hanging at the back, but at least today it felt more like a tactical, rather than an emotional, decision. If someone were injured, she would know immediately and be able to help. Bellamy checked in on her regularly; she was too exposed at the end of the line like that. While it was obvious Clarke chafed slightly under the constant supervision, she bore it as gracefully as she could.

Just before they finally entered the forest again, Bellamy looked back for another quick check on Clarke. She had stopped, leaning against the dilapidated stone wall that had followed them across most of the vast open meadow. Her head was bent low and her golden mane cascaded over her shoulder, blocking his view of her face. _Something's wrong_, Bellamy thought. He forced his heart back into its natural rhythm and pushed toward her.

"Clarke!" Bellamy's voice was tight with fear; she looked up, wondering what fresh danger had been discovered.

"Is someone hurt?" she asked immediately, adjusting her sweater and catching Bellamy's worried eyes.

"No, you're – are you okay?" he sounded as confused as she felt. He looked her over quickly, and spotted the blood staining the shoulder of her sweater. Bellamy's whole countenance changed then: his arms crossed, his brow lifted in silent accusation, and his lips pulled down in disapproval.

"It's nothing."

"Oh? Because it looks like blood to me."

"I need to change the dressing, that's all. I thought I could take care of it now, while everything's relatively quiet."

"I'll help you." Bellamy was not offering, he was commanding. Clarke reacted to that tone of voice without thinking, automatically stepping up to challenge him.

"Bellamy, I know what I'm doing," she snapped.

"Did I say you don't? But it'll be faster if I help, Princess," he explained, refusing to back down.

"If I need your help, I'll ask for it!" Clarke's eyes sparked as she warmed to the battle, and Bellamy had to swallow hard against the temptation to pull her the rest of the way to him, to tangle his hands in her hair and kiss her into silence.

Clarke caught the change in his features and pulled back. For one brief clean moment everything had felt like it used to, had felt comfortable again. Then with a look, he had tinged it all with this new and terrifying meaning. She needed a moment to regain her balance before she responded.

"Fine. In my med kit - there's bandages and a salve from Martin." Bellamy bent to retrieve her bag from the ground, hiding a triumphant smile. When he straightened, Clarke was pulling her sweater off so he could access the wound better. He exhaled heavily as he watched her undress. The thin white cotton of her tank top was once again the only thing separating the soft curves of her body from his hands, and Bellamy cleared his throat in an effort to regain his composure.

"You're killing me, Princess," he admitted in a low voice as he reached gingerly for the bloody gauze wrapped around the top of her arm. His hands were rough and strong, but his touch was light. Clarke took a steadying breath before responding.

"I told you I could do it myself," she pointed out.

"I know you can; but you don't have to," he said quietly. "Not anymore."

After - when he saw, and asked about it - she told him the tears that had sprung to her eyes were from the pain of changing the bandages.

* * *

Clarke was not the only one who had noticed the oppressive nature of the open valley sky. Most of the teenagers felt more comfortable once they were finally back in the forest, relaxing visibly as the trees formed a natural ceiling overhead. Bellamy had to remind several people that they were still in serious danger. Lincoln's map indicated packs of wolf-like creatures roamed these woods, especially the higher elevations.

Jasper had picked up the second of the stolen rifles when they broke camp in the morning, and it was only later that Bellamy realized what happened. He very nearly forced Jasper to give it up, but the skinny teen was so attentive and eager to please; Bellamy gritted his teeth and decided to let him keep it for the day. He settled for a sharp reminder to think first, and fire conservatively. They had not gathered ammunition from the fallen guards during their headlong rush to escape Mount Weather, and now they were stuck counting every bullet yet again.

"I always thought it would be cool to have a dog as a pet," Jasper admitted to Harper as they walked. "I never thought I'd have to shoot one."

"Well, I think it's weird. Keeping animals that don't do anything?" Harper shook her head. "What's the point?"

Jasper gaped at her in open disbelief. Had she not paid attention in their Earth Society and Cultures classes?

"Pets were companions, Harper. Furry best friends! I think that's great."

"Okay, well, if one of them tries to be_ my_ best friend, I'd still like you to shoot it first," she said. Jasper grinned.

"Yes, ma'am," he offered with a mock salute.

"Jasper, stop flirting and get back here!" Bellamy's voice cut into the moment and Harper blushed prettily, but it was lost on Jasper, who was already running toward the back of the group. Clarke and Bellamy were walking side-by-side but seemed upset. Jasper tried to offer an apology.

"Sorry, I was just -"

"Not right now. We've got company," Bellamy answered tersely, and he gestured toward a gentle slope to their north. Jasper searched and found them: three huge doglike shadows loping along the ridgeline, neither attacking nor retreating, simply tracking the humans through the woods.

"What do we do?" he whispered to Bellamy nervously.

"Well I doubt they speak English, and they already know we're here, so whispering seems pointless," Bellamy pointed out sardonically.

"Right, of course… So, what do we do?" Jasper repeated in his normal voice.

"Nothing," Clarke cut in. The men stared at her. "How many bullets do you each have left? Because they're well over a thousand yards away, and they're moving targets. If they get closer we'll deal with it; until then, we just make sure we know where they are."

* * *

The news that they were being trailed by wolves spread like wildfire, doing more to sober the teenagers than all of Bellamy's earlier yelling. There was a frightened determination to the group's movements now, and they packed just slightly closer together as they hiked, eyeing the forest warily.

Any illusions Clarke had about operating as a free agent were shattered. Bellamy clung to her like a shadow now, never more than arm's reach away. By the time they crossed through the mountain pass – the wolves a tireless, ghostly presence even then – Clarke had become desperate for relief from the relentlessness of his attention. It was not until late afternoon that Jasper's appearance at the back of the group, supporting a limping Harper, provided the perfect opportunity. He explained in a worried voice that she had fallen on the downhill slope, and likely sprained her ankle.

"Bellamy, I just need to wrap this quickly. You go on. Jasper can stay with us, since he'll have to support Harper until we make camp." As Clarke spoke, Harper glanced at Jasper and flashed a grateful smile. Bellamy was clearly itching to pick another fight with Clarke about the idea of abandoning her, but she refused to look him in the eye, busying herself instead with Harper's ankle.

"Wow, he's grumpy about something," Harper announced when Bellamy finally jogged away. Clarke bit back a grin as she worked. She did not want to waste these few precious minutes of solitude thinking about Bellamy Blake. Instead, she let her mind shift into clinical mode, checking for evidence that Harper might have more than just a sprain. When she was satisfied it was a minor injury, Clarke pulled open her bag in search of a wrap. She was focused on her work, and never even saw the wolf as it leaped toward the huddled trio.

Instead she heard the shots, and looked up at Jasper in surprise just as the bloody, twisting body of the huge dying wolf bowled into them all.

* * *

These were not prey animals after all, the other wolves realized just in time. These were killers. The scent of their brother's death burned a warning into their sensitive nostrils, and they vanished into the late-afternoon shadows. As they fled, an ancient pack memory resurfaced, of terrifying monsters like these that killed from a distance with a noise and a flash and a metallic stench.

* * *

Bellamy stared down at Harper and Clarke - seated beside the wolf's massive corpse - and felt like destroying something. He wanted it to be Jasper, but the rational part of his brain pointed out that Jasper had just saved Clarke's life. Instead he pushed the angry fear way down, fed it to the hot beast pacing anxiously within him, and reached out for Clarke. Bellamy needed to touch her, to have proof she was safe. Her injured heart would just have to put up with his for now.

Clarke, still breathing heavily from the adrenaline of the past few minutes, jumped when Bellamy's hand found her shoulder; as soon as she recognized the weight of it, though, she relaxed gratefully into the contact. She reached up and placed her fingers over his for a moment, just a moment of weakness in which she relied on his strength. Bellamy's thumb caressed the bare skin above the collar of her sweater longingly and then he was gone, helping Jasper and Marla pull the wolf's body off to the side so it could be skinned and butchered. Marla pulled her knife out and started the work immediately, but Jasper turned back to check on Harper. He knelt at her side and did his best to offer a comforting smile.

"Are you okay? I'm really sorry I wasn't faster, but -" Harper's frantic kiss smothered the rest of his sentence, and Clarke tried to find somewhere else to look.

"I'm so sorry," Harper apologized with a frown when the pair finally separated. "But, Jasper, that was… amazing. You saved my life!" She started crying, and Jasper, flustered, looked to Clarke for help. She smiled encouragingly at him and the gangly teenager wrapped an arm around Harper's shoulders and let her sob into his chest.

"Harper, you're going to be fine," he murmured. "I'm right here. I promise, I'll protect you."

* * *

Dinner was a raucous affair that night. The meat tasted slightly off - the way predators always tasted – but it was protein, and it was fresh, and the young crowd was eager to celebrate anything, even just the fact that everyone had survived another day. Clarke decided to slip away early. Harper was one of the four people assigned to her tent, which meant she could check in on her patient and try to get a few hours of sleep before taking over watch from Bellamy. She pushed aside the flap to her tent, and jumped.

"Oh god – Oh my g – sorry…" Clarke fled as quickly as she could, embarrassed to have stumbled in on Harper and Jasper. Apparently Harper felt she had not thanked him properly earlier. And _clearly_ nothing was going to keep her from doing so now, not even an accidental visitor.

Well. If Jasper was taking up space in her tent, she would just trade with him.

Zoe was asleep in one corner when Clarke slipped inside the other tent, but Monty was up, writing in a small notebook. He slammed it shut quickly, and asked about Jasper.

"I'm pretty sure he's sleeping in my tent tonight. I figured I'd trade with him." Suddenly another head poked through the doorway.

"Hey guys, can I sleep in here? Jasper and Harper are _totally_ doing – oh, Clarke, sorry." Sterling looked crestfallen at seeing the blonde leader. "I didn't realize you'd beaten me to the punch."

"You know what, Sterling, it's fine. I'm not really tired, anyway," Clarke said as she slid past him, heading back outside. The last person assigned to her tent was young Parker, and he should most definitely be intercepted before he made the same discovery as Sterling had. Clarke hurried back to the campfire, calling his name as she went. When she found him, enthralled by one of Marla's campfire ghost stories, she breathed a sigh of relief.

"Hey Parker, can you come with me for a second?"

"But it's the best part!" Parker protested. Clarke looked at him appraisingly before she answered.

"It's a bloody hook. The end. Let's go." Parker moaned at her but complied, curiosity winning out for now. Besides, he reasoned, he'd heard that story about seven times already. They walked through the trees to the very edge of camp, and Parker pulled closer to Clarke; he was not at _all_ afraid of the dark, of course, but he wanted to make sure he was nearby if _she_ got scared.

"Bellamy?" Clarke called as she waited for her eyes to adjust to the absence of light.

"Over here, Princess," his low voice rumbled from an open area to their left, and Clarke re-oriented herself.

"We have to find somewhere for Parker to sleep tonight."

"Why?"

"My tent is… being used." Clarke tried to come up with an explanation that would be lost on the boy at her side, and opted for simplicity. "Jasper and Harper are spending the night there, so Sterling is in with Monty, Zoe, and Raven. Can Parker have your spot?" Bellamy had only one other person in his tent, a large gentle teen named Erik.

"Yeah, sure kid, take my tent. And Clarke? Nice catch," came the amused answer from the darkness.

Once she had explained the situation to Erik and left Parker with him, Clarke felt adrift. She wandered slowly among the scattered tents, each one a precious gift from Michael and the village leaders. She was surprised to discover how much she missed the village, since they had only spent a day there. But it was the first time she had felt welcomed, by anyone on Earth. That mattered to Clarke in a way she had trouble explaining even to herself. And knowing the villagers had gone one step further, making sacrifices to help her people – dangerous sacrifices, such as hiding their wounded should the Mountain Men follow – Clarke felt almost burdened by that level of selflessness.

"Jasper and Harper, huh?" The warmth of the voice interrupted her thoughts, and Clarke discovered she had crossed the entire camp without noticing. She was back at the rocky outcropping on which Bellamy sat, keeping watch.

"It _was_ pretty heroic, the way he killed that wolf for her," Clarke pointed out, settling down a few feet from Bellamy. Without the fire to ruin her night vision, Clarke could make out his silhouette, pale in the moonlight, as he surveyed the land below them. He tossed a calculating glance Clarke's direction.

"So that's all it takes to get the girl?"

"Depends on the girl," Clarke warned.

Bellamy smiled ruefully and looked away again; the silence gathered around them, a slow thick creeping silence that offered comfort, but in exchange refused to be broken.


	12. Chapter 11

"Oh wow, Clarke! Bellamy! Check it out!" Monty called just as they were preparing to set off the next morning. The two leaders stepped away from the rest of the group and found Monty staring in awe at a blanket of pretty round leaves with white star-like veins, growing low to the ground. The three bent forward for a closer look.

"Nasturtium. I really can't believe I didn't see it last night. We grew this on the Ark. Clarke, we need to collect as much as we can. It's edible, which is great; but you know, you can also make antibiotic ointment out of the leaves." Monty looked up in excitement. "Hey Jasper! Come here!"

Jasper rushed over; but instead of slowing as he neared, he crashed heavily into Clarke, knocking her off-balance. She reached out blindly to catch herself and grabbed for Bellamy's shoulder on her way down. He reacted instinctively, gathering her against his chest in a tight hug that felt painfully perfect. Clarke looked up at him and it was there again, a fire burning deep in his eyes, a fire she knew could consume her if she let it.

He held her longer than he needed to because the beast would not let go. It had reached out and caught her; it thundered in his ears even now, stronger than before, demanding Bellamy keep her and make her his. He gritted his teeth when he caught her watching him carefully, and hoped she could not see the struggle within.

"Monty? Jasper?" Raven called over with an angry glare and an accusing voice, restoring some semblance of normalcy to the moment. "What the hell just happened?"

"It was all my fault, sorry. I wasn't paying attention to where I was going," Jasper offered with a raised hand and a guilty smile. Raven seemed unsatisfied with the answer, and turned her attention on Monty. She stared at him until he cracked under the pressure.

"Raven, it's _nasturtium_. I couldn't possibly have planted all this here on purpose, could I?"

Clarke finally disentangled herself from Bellamy and looked at Raven in confusion.

"What's going on?"

"Nothing. At least, it better be nothing," she answered, still suspicious, but deciding to keep quiet for the time being. She turned away just before Monty flashed his best friend a quick thumbs-up and a satisfied grin.

* * *

When Jasper offered Harper a portion of his meal at lunch, she just eyed the food, her arms crossed petulantly and her mouth a tight thin line.

"Uh, did I do something wrong?" Jasper finally asked. He was absolutely sure he had fallen in love last night. In his love-struck opinion, Harper was by far the most brilliant, funny, sexy, amazing person ever - and he wanted to spend his whole life making her happy. But somehow he had managed to piss her off, twelve hours into their relationship.

"Well… maybe." Harper looked down the slope, to where Bellamy, Clarke, and Raven were gathered around the map. "What happened this morning, with you and Clarke?"

Jasper stared at her blankly. _Clarke? What…?_ As realization hit, Jasper laughed and bent forward to kiss the tip of Harper's nose.

"No, Harper! It's not like that at all, _believe_ me. Monty and I are working on something…" and as he shared the details of their matchmaking efforts, Harper's face broke into a grin.

"That is so awesome. But can I offer some advice? From a girl's perspective?" Jasper nodded eagerly and called Monty over. The trio plotted for the remainder of the lunch break, almost forgetting to eat. By the time Clarke approached them about getting back on the trail, Harper had become an integral part of Monty and Jasper's plans. She reached for Jasper's hand, refusing to let go as they set off on the next leg of the trip. His heart swelled with pride at the adorable evil genius by his side.

* * *

"Bellamy," Clarke began as she sat down next to him in the tall grass later that day, enjoying a quick break. They were out of the mountains and following an ancient road that would lead them straight in to the old Capital, and Clarke decided now would be a good time to try out Raven's advice.

"Princess," he replied, waiting. He had been distracted all day, remembering the softness of her body pressed against his when Jasper knocked her over. It had tortured him ever since, and he could feel his resolve burning away as they hiked. He considered Lydia, and her suggestion that time heals all wounds. Bellamy knew they had run out of time the moment their bodies collided like that; another similar incident would be just enough to free the frantic beast responsible for the fire that poured through his veins every time Clarke drew near.

"How did you do it?" Clarke asked. "How did you survive?" The question threw Bellamy. He frowned and looked away, not eager to share this right now.

"Finn," he said simply. Clarke was surprised by the answer, and her brow furrowed.

"Finn saved you?"

"Yes. He got us both into the tunnels in time. That's where I was when the Mountain Men came, too." Clarke waited for more, but Bellamy was not being as forthcoming as she hoped.

"And then?" she prodded. Bellamy's jaw tightened, and a muscle in his cheek ticked. He did not like this conversation.

"What do you want to hear, Clarke? Do you want to know what it felt like, discovering I had failed you all? Learning that while I was passed out, you had been stolen from me?" She blinked as his voice heated with anger.

"Or maybe you're wondering how I reacted when Finn told me you slept together." Bellamy stood up suddenly, his face now stormy as he looked down at her. "Or should we talk about how I saved Spacewalker's life and brought him back to you, knowing he had already won?" He ran his hands through his mess of dark curls in frustration and squatted down to her level once more. His voice was rough, and his eyes burned feverishly as he spoke. Clarke froze.

"If I _ever_ gave you the impression I'm a patient man, let me clear things up. I'm not. I've been just about as patient as I can, Princess. But I think Jena's mom might be right after all." And with that, Bellamy left. Raven, heading over to ask Clarke something, caught sight of Bellamy storming away and turned a questioning eye on Clarke.

"I tried listening," Clarke offered, hugging her knees to her chest protectively. She was trying to process what had just happened.

"Mmm… I don't think you did it right," Raven commented, staring at Bellamy's retreating figure.

"It's listening, Raven. It's not rocket science."

"Which you are _also_ terrible at." Clarke smiled briefly at her friend's joke.

"That's helpful, thanks." Clarke tilted her head. "Hey, do you have any idea who Jena's mom is?"

* * *

The afternoon turned unseasonably warm and when they came to a shallow river that Lincoln's map listed as safe, Bellamy released everyone for another brief stop. They were making better time than he expected, and this seemed a worthwhile reward. Better that they enter the old Capital in good spirits; at this point they were only a day away.

Several girls took the opportunity to slip upstream and bathe in a sheltered cove they found; there was a tense moment when one group of boys intercepted another group sneaking up to the cove to spy. Bellamy watched carefully from his place on the bank, ready to intervene if necessary. Cooler heads eventually prevailed, though, and he relaxed back, closing his eyes for just a moment as the sun warmed his face. He heard someone approaching, but did not bother opening his eyes to investigate.

"What the hell happened to you earlier?"

"I don't know what you're talking about, Princess," he answered, still not moving.

"I'm talking about your little outburst at our last break," Clarke answered. He kept silent, hoping she would give up, and knowing she was too stubborn.

"The next time you don't want to talk about something, Bellamy, just tell me."

"Somehow I don't think that would really stop you."

"It would be a lot better than whatever that was," Clarke's voice was hurt, and Bellamy finally opened his eyes, staring up at her frustrated expression. Bellamy wanted to explain that he had to keep some things locked away as a matter of self-preservation, but the words eluded him.

"Finn's in love with you," he murmured instead. He waited for a flicker of surprise at the revelation; instead Clarke just sighed and crossed her arms.

"But I'm not in love with him." This time it was Clarke's turn to stalk off.

* * *

The world was flat and open, once again an alien landscape. The comforts of the claustrophobic forest, the mountain peaks they had already come to think of as "theirs"… it was all gone now, a blue shadow behind them. The map was their only link to anything familiar as they moved toward Octavia and Lincoln.

Bellamy hated it. He kept pushing them along, searching for a place to camp that could offer even a scrap of coverage. It was almost twilight before he felt comfortable stopping, near a small stream lined with willows and elms. The tired band of teenagers began setting up hastily, taking advantage of the fading light.

"Hey Jasper!" Bellamy called; when the lanky boy looked up, he got a face-full of tent. "Take mine. You need it more than I do."

Harper blushed at the comment, but shot Jasper a conspiratorial wink as he unfolded the two-person structure. She slipped away to Monty for a quick whispered chat, then selected a few choice items from the pile of camping gear and slunk off unnoticed. Raven was busy watching the boys; she never considered their new partner in crime.

After dinner Jasper and Monty convinced Raven they should be allowed to stand watch overnight. Bellamy and Clarke were not getting as much sleep as the others, they insisted. Despite her mistrust of their motives, Raven knew the argument had merit, and she agreed to help them persuade Bellamy of the same.

With Raven doing half the work for them, Monty sidled up to Clarke's side as she helped Erik sort out new sleeping arrangements.

"I don't know if you noticed, but there's more of that red seaweed in the stream here," he said.

"But we just harvested all that nasturtium this morning," Clarke pointed out, confused.

"It's great as an ointment, but useless orally," Monty explained with a shrug. "The seaweed is better for that. But if you think we have enough supplies to keep everyone safe…" he let the thought trail off, and Clarke took the bait.

"No, you're right," she sighed. "There's probably no such thing as enough. So first thing tomorrow -" she began, but Monty was ready.

"I think we should gather it now, so it can dry out overnight. We don't want to carry a bunch of soggy plants tomorrow, right? I can go with you, since I know exactly where it is," he offered helpfully. She nodded and the pair headed toward a less popular section of the creek, upstream of their campsite.

Clarke laughed in disbelief when they reached the water's edge; a moss on the rocks lining the stream bed glowed pale blue with bioluminescence, reflecting up through the water and saturating everything along the edge with a gentle shimmer. An ancient weeping willow hung over a beachy area, its branches trailing into the water, flirting with the natural current and sending little eddies and whirlpools of light dancing along the stream's surface. She was mesmerized, her mission forgotten for the moment as she explored the cathedral-like space within the graceful tree's sweeping arms. Monty smiled and slipped away, narrowly avoiding Bellamy and whatever arbitrary mission Harper had assigned him.

The dark leader froze at the sight of Clarke, bent at the water' edge. From here she was a work of art, a sculpture crafted by the finest masters and preserved forever in that cool blue glow which suffused the very air around her. He hesitated to breathe, knowing he would destroy the moment and be unable to recapture it.

A breeze caught Clarke's hair, playing with a stray lock; as she reached up to brush it aside, she glanced around and spied him. Bellamy's boyish features and tousled curls called to her, kissed gently as they were with starlight. She rose from the water's edge, watching, waiting, trembling.

He closed the space between them quickly, never taking his eyes from her face. He was sure now that she was his universe, his sun and moon. She owned him completely; she just had not made the discovery yet.

"Clarke," he choked out, and once again his voice carried with it so many other words, apologies and promises and hopes and crushing fears, and she bit her lip to steady herself against the onslaught.

"Please," she begged him, although in truth she spoke to the heaving, desperate, smoky beast within his chest. "Not yet."

"When?" he whispered back. Hope seared his world a brilliant gold. _Not yet._

Not: _No._

Clarke's expression was guarded.

"What will happen to me if I lose you again?" Her throat tightened at saying the words aloud. Her eyes searched his, hoping to see understanding there. What she found was not just understanding but personal anguish, his pain at having caused her to suffer. He nodded, but it was a long time before he trusted himself to speak. When he did, it was a hoarse whisper.

"You're the reason I lived, Clarke. You're the only thing that kept me fighting." The beast cried out, desperate for the chance to show her how deep his need for her ran. Bellamy growled back at it and moved closer, reaching for her waist possessively.

"_You won't lose me._ I won't let go, ever again, Princess."

Clarke tried to catch her breath, which was suddenly too shallow and rapid. She felt trapped - but not by him. Her heart, protected so carefully by the cold white chamber she had built around it, now thundered against the confining walls, beating frantically for freedom. She was certain dying felt like this, the soul suddenly trying to escape the very cage that had sheltered it for so long.

Bellamy reached up to a loose strand of her hair and brushed it aside, then traced the line of her jaw tenderly; his thumb passed lightly over her soft pink mouth as he did so. Bellamy did not want to make the same mistake twice. Their first kiss had surprised her. Not this time. This time she would know damn well what she was getting herself into. He leaned forward, stopping just shy of those tempting lips, and was rewarded when she pushed up into him, making the final decision for them both.

He tasted sweet, so painfully sweet and hot and tender, and that little flame she was absolutely certain she had killed – it burst back instantly, stronger than before, glorious and determined to thaw the ice that coursed through her veins.

She let it. She was exhausted by the battle she had been waging within herself, and he felt so good, so warm and right pressed against her body. Bellamy's lips asked for more and Clarke responded eagerly, her mouth parting, welcoming him, in turn begging for this heady perfection to last forever.

He pulled away eventually though, and now he was the one with the guarded expression, trying to get a better read on her. Her eyes were wide and bright and longing; Bellamy exhaled, trying to regain control. His voice when he spoke was thick with need, despite the seriousness of his words.

"If you still think this is a mistake, Clarke, this is your _one _chance to stop. Everyone out there is relying on us, and we have to be able to work together, no matter what happens." Clarke paused, watching his eyes, searching out that heat she had glimpsed only briefly in the past. She found it, tumbled into it - and gasped at the discovery of a passion without limits.

"I think it's far too late for that talk," she whispered huskily. He grabbed her back to him before the words had a chance to fade in the chilly air, and this time when his mouth found hers there was no hesitation. There was only the fire.


	13. Chapter 12

_[A/N: You are all beautiful and fantastic and... my heart is just so very, very glad for each of you that is willing to read my story. Thank you. And as always, thank you to each of you who take the time and effort to offer a review. I really do fret over each one!]_

_[CONTENT WARNING: A LOT OF BAD LANGUAGE IN THIS CHAPTER! AND I MEAN **A LOT**.]_

* * *

It seemed to Michael that Lydia practically lived in the makeshift infirmary now. The sky was inky black when he slipped inside and found her fast asleep, curled up between Monroe and Lara. Michael smiled apologetically at Martin, who dismissed it with a gentle shake of his head.

"She is very helpful, Michael. I believe she would make a fine healer when she grows up, if she chooses that path." They watched her for several quiet minutes.

"I suspect Clarke had something to do with it," Martin observed.

"No doubt you are right. One day spent with the newcomers, and our world is tipped on its side, is it not? They are a curious group."

Their conversation was interrupted by a tortured groan from one corner of the room. The men walked over to stand at Finn's feet. He slept fitfully, and Martin spoke as Michael followed the young man's movements in concern.

"It is not his leg, I am certain of that. The wounds are clean, and there is no infection. I believe this to be a case where your expertise is required." Michael smiled at the healer's words but it did not reach his eyes.

"By which you must mean this is a matter of the heart. I have already told you, I am no expert."

"Your reputation precedes you, and contradicts you. This is not a time for modesty, Michael," Martin said. The leader sighed and nodded.

"Fine. Do what you must to assist his sleep tonight. I will return in the morning."

* * *

Harper sat by the campfire, her small audience hanging on every word.

"… And _my_ point was simply that the tent would be_ way_ too obvious. I mean, you should see this spot I found, it's like something out of a dream, we got so lucky! It's the most romantic place in the world, I barely had to do any work to get it set up. I'll sneak down in a bit for a peek, but I'm telling you, by this time tomorrow, those t-t-two… um…"

She faded into silence at the realization that there were two new faces in the audience. Unhappy faces.

"Harper, a moment?" Bellamy's commanding voice froze the blood of the teenagers gathered around. Several of the smarter ones quietly faded into the night, hoping to avoid becoming collateral damage.

"Monty, you'd better come too," Clarke added, and her tone left no room for argument.

"Shit," Harper muttered as she stood to follow the pair. Behind her, Monty was thinking fast.

"Clarke, I didn't mean to abandon you back there at the stream, I just got confused about -"

"What's this?" Clarke interrupted, turning abruptly and pressing a green quilt into his chest.

"A-a-a blanket."

"And why was it sitting under a tree by the creek, so far from camp?" Bellamy's face was stern and his arms were crossed, waiting for an explanation.

"No, why was it folded neatly under a tree by the creek, _along with_ another blanket and a lantern?" Clarke clarified, looking from Harper to Monty disapprovingly.

"It wasn't Monty. It was me," Harper volunteered.

"We're waiting for a reason," Bellamy prodded her. It was like being interrogated by her parents, the way Clarke and Bellamy worked together. She shuddered.

"I forgot I left them there?" she finally tried. After all, she figured, there was no way they suspected the truth.

Bellamy did not like that excuse.

"You _forgot_? …Harper. We have nothing out here but the supplies we were given. We can't afford that kind of forgetfulness," he announced coldly, arms still crossed. Monty thought he caught a glint of amusement in the leader's eyes, though. "You two are on clean-up duty for the next three days."

"What? But Jasp… uh…" Harper bit her lips and hung her head, embarrassed at her near confession. "Yeah, okay, sorry," she mumbled, trying to cover.

It was too late.

"Jasper?" Clarke asked in surprise.

"Hm. He volunteered to cover my watch shift," Bellamy murmured, leaning toward her slightly but keeping his eye on Harper. He straightened and his voice became hard again. "Fine. Your boyfriend can join you on clean-up."

"I also think it's best if I take over for him tonight. Just in case he's feeling… forgetful," Clarke added. She turned away quickly, and Bellamy followed her.

"Well, that was a total failure," Harper whispered to Monty as they turned back to the campfire. _I told them we should keep it simple!_ she thought morosely as she kicked at a stone.

"Maybe…" Monty answered thoughtfully. He glanced over his shoulder; through the darkness it was hard to know for sure, but it seemed like Bellamy's hand rested lightly on the small of Clarke's back as they made their way toward the unsuspecting Jasper.

* * *

After they had sent Jasper back to the others with his tail between his legs, Clarke took a seat on the small hill that was the only high point in the area. She stared up at Bellamy.

"You think it's funny," she accused him.

"You don't," he guessed. There was an amused crinkling around his eyes as he watched her.

"I… feel manipulated," she explained, "...Don't you?" Bellamy just laughed.

"You may not like their methods," he began, grabbing Clarke's hand and pulling her up to him, and his voice softened with desire, "but it's hard to argue with their results." His kiss was gentle, drawing her in tenderly; Clarke tried to remember what they were talking about, and failed. She gave in to the embrace, deepening it, her hands seeking out the warmth of his skin. As she tugged hungrily at the hem of his shirt Bellamy grinned against her mouth.

"Easy, Princess, I'd love to pick up where we stopped…" he pulled back, and the fire in his eyes was a steadier heat now, more confident of her desire for him. "But you've still got a job to do," he whispered. She blushed instantly, embarrassed. _Jasper's watch shift._

"Dammit."

Bellamy moved behind Clarke and wrapped her in his arms, and together they looked out over the cluster of tents, filled with the young people who had somehow become their responsibility.

Clarke leaned into him, settling against his strong broad chest as if she had always belonged there. It was all so different, this new closeness. Definitely not bad, but very, very different. And figuring out how to _be_ around him whenever the others were near… But right now it was just them, and she found it a bit overwhelming, how easy it was to hold Bellamy and be held by him.

There was silence for several minutes.

"Really, who is Jena's mom?" she finally asked. Bellamy laughed and kissed the base of her neck. She moaned quietly at the touch.

"It was something Lydia said. According to Martin time can heal most wounds, but Jena's mom told her things always feel better with a kiss."

Clarke furrowed her brow at the idea, and craned her neck around to find Bellamy's face.

"And what do you think?" she asked him. His eyes were suddenly serious, and he squeezed her just a little more tightly to his chest.

"I think they're both right."

* * *

"Clarke? We have company," Bellamy whispered, and her eyes fluttered open. At some point in the night they had settled down into the tall grass on the hill; she must have fallen asleep leaning against him.

"Where?"

"Due South." Bellamy's voice was tight, his body tense as he prepared to defend his people from whatever fresh danger this might be. Clarke looked in the direction he had indicated and saw it, too… several bright points of light, moving steadily toward their now-darkened, sleeping campsite.

"How many, do you think?" Bellamy continued, mentally counting out the number of bullets he and Clarke had left between the two rifles they carried. She was an okay shot at best; he suddenly missed Miller's precision.

"There's only one way to find out," Clarke announced, and she was gone, striding down the hill before Bellamy had a chance to understand her meaning. He raced after her, blood pounding at the idea of her walking to her death so soon after they had discovered each other.

"Clarke, don't be stupid," he growled when he caught up to her, and her eyes widened. He shook his head and tried to apologize, but she was gone again.

"Just - stop!" he called out softly, pleading with her. She heard the fear in his voice this time, and turned back with her arms crossed.

"Bellamy, we need to get a closer look. I'm not planning on introducing myself, just watching." He stared her down, hating her stubborn streak now more than ever. That stubbornness might rip her from him at any moment, if he was not careful. Clarke refused to waver, and eventually Bellamy gave in with a sigh.

"You stay behind me, and if anything bad happens, you run. Get back to camp immediately," he ordered her. As he slipped in front, he caught her hand briefly and then moved on, not sure he trusted himself with more.

They crouched into the tall grass as they drew closer to the approaching band of travelers, listening intently, eyes straining for a glimpse of the figures. There were about a dozen of them, dressed in leather and fur, and they laughed and chatted as they walked, seemingly unconcerned about whether or not they were making their presence known.

"Hey now, Big Ray, what the fuck is that over there?" one of them suddenly called to someone at the front, and a large blonde man with a goatee and an intricate pattern of scars on his cheeks turned back to search out the speaker.

"Who the fuck's that callin' me?" he answered, peering past the light thrown by his torch.

"It was Asshole Jack!" someone else piped up with a laugh.

"Shit. Asshole Jack, grow the hell up. There's fuck-all out here," Big Ray answered, waving his hand dismissively.

"If that bastard keeps fuckin' with me, I'm sellin' him to the goddamn Reapers," Big Ray added to someone beside him. He let out a belly laugh at the thought.

Despite the gravity of their discovery, Clarke couldn't help a smile. There was something rough but friendly about Big Ray's leadership style, and she wanted to keep listening, but Bellamy dragged her on, moving to a new position further ahead.

"Fuck's sake Big Ray, I swear on my mom's left tit there's some fucker out there trackin' us!"

"Shit - me too!" someone else called, and Big Ray held up his hand to stop the crew. It took a full minute before the rowdy men stumbled and shoved each other into anything resembling silence. Big Ray peered around at the field, searching out evidence that Asshole Jack was right.

"Alright you little shits, stop fuckin' with us. If you're friendly bastards so are we. If you're not… well then, you can just fuck off!" Clarke looked at Bellamy; he shook his head, adamant. She bit her lip, trying to decide.

"If they keep going, they'll run right into our camp anyway," she whispered to him. She stood up and waved a hand in the darkness.

"Over here!" she called. Bellamy swore as heavily as Big Ray at her obstinance.

"Fuck! Asshole Jack, turns out you're a damn genius!" Big Ray laughed. He peered into the darkness and gave a low whistle. "Holy hell, I think we just found one of those sexy Sirens from your damn campfire stories, Regular Jack!" Bellamy rose at those words, and Clarke could feel the heat of his anger radiating off him in waves. She held him back with one oustretched arm.

"I'm just a regular person," Clarke announced. "Who are you?"

"Well, Regular Person - and Regular Person's very scary shadow - we're the No-Man's Clan!" Big Ray answered back with a grin. "I'm Reynard, but fuck that – just call me Big Ray. We're wanderers. We find all the shit nobody fuckin' looked for after the war, and we trade it to other clans for food an' shit. But we don't usually find fuckin' people. That's new." And Big Ray let out another hearty laugh.

"Especially fuckin' pretty ladies!" Asshole Jack piped up.

"Goddammit – fuckin' shit like that's exactly why you're Asshole Jack, and the other one's Regular Jack!" Big Ray bellowed at him. "Don't fuckin' piss off Scary Shadow over there! If that fucker shoots you, Jack, I'm not gonna be sorry."

* * *

It was impossible to miss the arrival of the No-Man's Clan in camp. Clarke had explained that her people were heading East and were spending the night nearby, and Big Ray had bowed low and made a gallant, if curse-filled, offer to go with them as guides. Bellamy had said they needed no help, thank you; Big Ray had smiled at that.

"You're a brave one, Scary Shadow. There's shit you can't fuckin' picture in the Old City. I can't just send pretty ladies off to die. We'll go with you. There's always new shit to be found in that fuckin' hell-hole." And with that, the discussion ended.

As the dozen nomads tramped toward their campsite, Bellamy sent Clarke ahead to warn everyone. There was no sense in letting themselves be caught unaware; better to offer a show of strength early, just in case the nomads thought they were an easy target.

He need not have worried. Big Ray and his crew were a traveling party; as they drew closer, several men pulled out flutes and drums and a few others produced flasks from their packs. They arrived like a whirling storm of laughter and cursing and furs and muscles and music and drinking: to Jasper, watching from his tent, it looked for all the world like Lincoln had cloned himself. And learned about fun.

Bellamy found Clarke with Monty and Raven, and gave her a look that implied she would be paying for this for years to come.

"Come on, Bellamy, relax! They seem pretty friendly," Raven piped up. Her face was lit in an excited grin; as the musicians gathered around the now-rekindled campfire, she allowed herself to be dragged away by a group of teenagers heading for the seemingly endless supply of flasks their guests offered.

"Princess," Bellamy began in a warning tone, "This is a mistake. I don't trust them."

"Hey, Scary Shadow, do you own Regular Person, or is she allowed to talk to other fuckin' people?" Big Ray called from across the campfire. Clarke's eyes narrowed as she waited to hear Bellamy's answer.

"My name's Clarke," she called back eventually, her eyes never leaving Bellamy's face.

"Clarke?" Big Ray laughed. "That's fuckin' hilarious! We got a Clark here, too. But he's a fuckin' ugly bastard. Come here, I'll introduce you!"

* * *

The ocean was… so much. Just _so much_ water.

It was too salty by far, but that hardly mattered. Octavia had lived on two-thirds rations of water for 16 years. A full cup had seemed an extravagant dream; the stream near the drop-ship was no less than a place from a fairy tale. But this? She could not stop staring, listening, breathing it in.

Tonight, as with most nights, she sat cross-legged on the sand and let the restless ocean saturate her being. Lincoln approached softly and draped a fur over her shoulders, and she flashed him an apologetic smile.

"You think I'm crazy," she hazarded. Lincoln watched her. Octavia was a miracle: an angel, fallen from the heavens, shattering everything he thought he knew and helping him see the beauty of the world as she did... with fresh, wide-eyed wonder.

"I think you're beautiful." He stood next to her, letting the driving surf overtake and guide the rhythm of his own heart.

"Lincoln?… What if – what if he didn't make it?" Octavia finally allowed herself to ask the question that had haunted her all this time. He looked down at her somberly.

"Another week, Octavia. That's all we can give Bellamy and the others. After that, the season's change will force us to move on." The nights were already turning far too frosty for Luna's taste. "I'm sorry."


	14. Chapter 13

_[A/N: My beta, _Marina Black1,_ is currently writing a piece for Arrow, called "Stars Fall Silent". It's a non-traditional pairing, but that's where she always rocks it. It's also got some truly beautifully-balanced Olicity in it - which she may just be doing for me, I'm not sure, but I won't complain!]_

_[A/N2: As always, dear readers, I remind you that **I adore your comments and reviews** - and I always try to respond! I have even gone back and edited based on readers' comments, both here and in other stories. Which is all to say, I take each review VERY seriously!]_

_[CONTENT WARNING: STILL A LOT OF BAD LANGUAGE IN THIS CHAPTER. LESS THAN IN CHAPTER 12, THOUGH.]_

* * *

"You do not need the crutch," Michael observed mildly, sitting under the walnut tree and overseeing Finn's progress as he practiced walking.

"I damn well can't walk without it," he shot back in frustration.

"You can, and you must. A crutch is only meant to help us for a short time, until we gain the strength to rely upon ourselves wholly again." Finn let out a soft groan as he sat down beside the leader.

"Not to be rude, but why are you the one helping me? Why isn't Martin doing this?"

"Martin believes you still rely too heavily on another crutch, as well. One he is less comfortable addressing."

"I don't know what you mean," Finn responded honestly.

"I mean there is something else… or rather, some_one_ else… still holding you back."

"... Well, you're wrong. It's my leg."

"Perhaps." Michael gazed out at the small collection of buildings, watching Anya stride toward Miller and Monroe with a list in her hand.

"Finn, may I tell you a story?"

The young man still looked upset by Michael's earlier assertion, but he shrugged and crossed his arms.

"Sure."

"Once, in a small village, there was a boy who fell in love with a girl." Michael paused for a moment, recalling delicate brown ringlets and a calico dress and a laugh as clear as a brass bell. "They were so young – Lydia's age, really – but she was beautiful, and she stole his heart the first time he saw her. And then her family moved away. He grew up, and he became a foolish young man who still pined for that girl. Even after he had married another. Eden, his wife, was sweet and pretty and he tried to be kind to her, but his obsession blinded him to Eden's quiet grace and generous heart. And the day came when she left him. No woman deserves to be with someone who cannot love her wholly." Michael's eyes were bright pools of regret at the memory of injuring one so innocent.

"The man, now a little older but no less foolish, saw the opportunity to pursue his childhood dreams. He searched for the girl who had captured his heart, and when he found her, she was even more beautiful than he remembered. She had ached for him, too, and they were so happy to have found each other again. But it could not last. He loved the memory of that little girl, and she the memory of him. They refused to admit how much the passing of Time had changed them, or that the memory of love past could not be enough. They grew to resent each other, and eventually resentment turned to something so much worse: indifference. And then one day she, too, was gone. She had found someone who could love her as she had become." He shook his head.

"The man was no longer quite as young, and he was no longer quite as foolish. The cost of his wisdom was loneliness, of course, and he resigned himself to a loveless life. But, as with all great redemption stories, the man was given a second chance. A chance beyond anything he had a right to expect. Eden returned to him, still believing in the goodness of him. This time though, he knew what to look for: the pleasure of building a life together, the happiness that comes from shared hardship and success. And he found that he loved Eden far more deeply than he had ever thought possible.

"The care they had for each other was whole and perfect… And eventually Eden gave birth to the most miraculous child, a daughter who was the living symbol of their timeless love. But the making of that pure being… it killed her, and the loss of her nearly killed the man, too." Michael stopped and looked at the ground for a long time.

"I spent the first few years of Lydia's life in a kind of sleep, Finn. Colors, tastes, my own daughter – I could enjoy nothing, because I was trapped. I forgot how to live, and once again I was failing someone I loved, my Lydia… But over time I rediscovered some small pleasures. A sunset. The feeling of a soft bed after a hard day's work. Laughter. And eventually I saw I was repeating my mistakes, and I realized I cannot live in the past, as lovely as that world was. I must take advantage of every day I have now. And maybe…" Michael smiled as Anya approached them, and he patted Finn gently on the shoulder, "… just maybe, if I can be open to life, I will find love again." He walked toward the striking warrior then, leaving Finn alone with his thoughts.

* * *

Luna and Irene walked along the beach toward Octavia, who was collecting seashells at the water's edge.

"My dear, it is going to storm. You must come inside now," Luna told their guest, firmly but kindly. Octavia nodded and smiled at the beautifully dark leader of the Ocean Clan, then twined her arm through Irene's. The two friends headed obediently back to the shelter of a low-slung wooden structure nestled behind the sand dunes. Once inside, Luna went in search of Lincoln. She was still hoping to convince him they should leave sooner.

"Your mom seems really worried," Octavia said as she and Irene settled down around a fishing net. The leader's teenage daughter had been charged with teaching Octavia to mend the tools that were the lifeblood of the Ocean Clan. She had started out slowly, but when she discovered what a quick study the new girl was, the pace of their lessons picked up considerably. There was something lovely about Irene that made Octavia want to do her best. It was not that a smile from Irene was rare. Quite the contrary; she never stopped smiling. But when something really delighted her, the smile broadened to the very edges of her face, and her shocking gold eyes glowed against her brown skin.

Irene paused in her work and considered Octavia's situation. Lincoln had told her some, and Octavia a great deal more, but every new revelation about the lives of the people from the space station still surprised Irene.

"Do you know how weather works?" she asked gently. She had learned after two days that it was better not to assume anything. In this case, Octavia shrugged her shoulders.

"I know some things, but just in general. I mean, I know about the seasons. It's going to be winter soon, right?" Octavia answered. Irene laughed, and the music of it was like honey pouring from her body. Finally she sobered, patted Octavia's knee sweetly, and nodded.

"Winter is bad on land. It is snowy and cold. But winter when you are trying to cross the ocean? It is death." She shuddered at the thought of making the trip. "From here the ships must travel up the coast, heading into ever cooler climates, until they catch the currents that will take them East. It is best to do so in late spring and early summer. My mother cares very deeply for Lincoln. For anyone else, she would refuse to do this."

Octavia nodded, and returned to the net she was mending. She had noticed how considerate Lincoln was of Luna, treating her with near-maternal reverence. And Luna's daughter was so sweet, and pretty… She tried not to be jealous, because being jealous of anyone as nice as Irene seemed terrible - but she frowned nonetheless when Lincoln walked in and smiled at the Ocean Clan girl first.

"Octavia," he called happily then, crossing the room and pulling her into a warm embrace. Octavia felt horrible for her moment of envy, as the strong arms of her warrior crushed her against his perfect body.

"Did you talk to my mother?" Irene asked from behind them.

"I did," Lincoln answered, still focused on Octavia's green cat-like eyes. He did not yet want to release her, but she seemed uninterested in being set free, anyway. Finally Irene cleared her throat gently.

"… And?"

"And I told her, we must give Bellamy every chance of reaching us. We will wait."

* * *

Sixty-four teenagers trudged through an unexpected, ice-cold rain toward the Old City, miserable and frustrated and hating life. Twelve fur-clad nomads, traveling with them, laughed it off as another example of how Nature could, as they put it, "be a cold-hearted asshole." Bellamy and Clarke trailed behind all of them, lost in their own world.

"You didn't sleep last night, did you?"

"Princess, I'm not going to get any sleep, while those… _people_… are with us," Bellamy said pointedly.

"Those _people_ are helping us. And I'll take any help we can get."

"... And what do they want in return?" He was pretty sure he had an idea. Big Ray paid a little too much attention to Clarke for Bellamy's liking.

"You accepted Michael's assistance without question, Bellamy. What bothers you so much about the No-Man's Clan?"

"Call it a gut feeling," he said.

"We'll stop here," Big Ray called out, and Bellamy looked around suspiciously. There was nothing to suggest why Big Ray had selected this as a resting point. It was as wet, flat, and dull as every other step of their morning trek had been.

"Why here?" Bellamy's voice was a challenge, but Big Ray did not rise to the bait. He strode to the back of the group with an easy smile, his muscular arms open wide in supplication.

"Sorry, friend. It's your fuckin' choice, of course. There's a big fuckin' underground thing here, though. Shit, what's it called?" He put his hands around his mouth like a megaphone, instantly magnifying his already booming voice. "Regular Jack, what the hell were those things called? With all the shit for sale in little stores all fuckin' bunched together?"

"Shopping malls, Big Ray?"

"Fuck, yeah! Shopping malls!" The broad-chested clan leader turned back to Bellamy. "So, Scary Shadow, what'll it be? A fuckin' dry place to eat, and maybe some scavengin' too? Or a wet fuckin' slog where everyone resents you more with every damn minute that passes?" Everything Big Ray said came out friendly, but there was a less-friendly subtext that even Clarke noticed now.

She stepped in, not trusting Bellamy's reaction.

"It's fine, Ray."

"Big Ray." He shifted focus, and now his cobalt eyes twinkled down at Clarke merrily.

"Does it matter?"

"Well, that ugly fucker over there is Little Ray, and I wouldn't want you to think I'm him," Big Ray grinned, waving at a man who easily had three inches in height on the six-foot-tall leader.

* * *

The shopping center was a dark underground jungle of exposed wiring, crumbling pillars, and collapsed ceilings, with aisle after aisle of square rooms that made Clarke's skin crawl. It all felt too similar to her dark grey cell in the Skybox, and her bright white room in the Mount Weather facility. It was yet another prison, and all she wanted was to get out as quickly as possible. It was clear her fellow delinquents were similarly affected, each eyeing the space suspiciously. Only Bellamy and Raven appeared not to notice. Raven, in fact, was in heaven.

"Hey, Big Ray? Do you mind if I take these?" she called from deep within what had apparently been an electronics store. Big Ray shook his head, smiling at Raven's enthusiasm.

"I know jack-all about that electricity stuff, so we never take that shit. It's yours, Pretty Bird." Raven stopped mid-grab and turned on him with a stare.

"Never. Fucking. Call me that," she commanded, and Big Ray actually took a step back.

"Well, fuck me, are you related to Scary Shadow? You're like his scarier sister or some shit, right?"

Raven, still thinking of her last exchanges on the Ark with the hideous smuggler Nygel, nodded as she kept gathering supplies.

"Something like that," she said. She just wanted to get away from that memory.

"Hey, Monty! Come here, I found the mother lode!" she called out as a distraction. Her partner in crime trotted over obediently, and she piled his arms with parts – including as many solar-powered devices as she could find.

* * *

"You look like you need some air," Bellamy whispered to Clarke. They were spending far longer underground than either leader had anticipated; the No-Man's Clan wanted to search even deeper, for anything they might have missed on previous visits. A few of the more adventurous teenagers, having overcome their earlier anxiety, were planning to go with them. As he and Clarke wandered among those preparing to venture down to the lower levels, Bellamy stopped Parker.

"You're not going."

"Why the fuck not?" Parker asked plaintively, and Bellamy's eyes widened at the unexpected use of such language. He leaned toward the boy and his voice was dangerously calm.

"Never speak to me that way again, Parker. Your mom wouldn't accept that language, and I won't either. You're better than that, kid. And you're _not_ going with the nomads, because I owe it to your mom to keep you alive." Bellamy nodded then, releasing his young charge, and Clarke stared at him in wonder.

"How do you know Parker's mom?" she asked.

"I never met her."

"But…"

"But I've been a fourteen-year-old boy, Princess. And when you're fourteen your mom matters, even though you'd rather die than admit it to your friends." He smiled grimly and turned his full attention back to Clarke. "Let's get you out of here; Raven's got this under control. They'll be fine for a few minutes."

The rain had slowed and lightened, turning into a fine mist that coated every surface with tiny beads of water. Clarke closed her eyes and inhaled the fall air deeply. She was surprised to feel Bellamy's warm strong hands at her waist; her lids flew open and he was once again standing just a bit too close, staring down at her with that fire she was starting to recognize and crave. She smiled at the water droplets clinging to his curls and reached up, brushing them aside; he kissed the palm of her hand as it slid past, and Clarke closed her eyes once again, enjoying the electric spark she felt at the point of contact. She found that little tingle of heat from his lips irresistible.

"Should we tell the others? About... this?" she asked when she trusted her voice again.

"Why? It's none of their damn business," he answered. Then he grinned. "Besides, Monty knows. Suspects, at least." She tilted her head, surprised.

Still grinning, Bellamy leaned down for a quick kiss - completely forgetting that he had not yet learned how to give Clarke just a simple kiss.

Once his mouth found hers, time became irrelevant. She poured herself against him so willingly that Bellamy toppled headlong into the moment, overwhelmed by his need for her. Her fingers traced a path down his chest, and he tightened his grasp on her hips, his thumbs running along the bare skin that peeked out from below her sweater. She whimpered against his mouth and slid her hands up under his shirt; her touch sent white-hot fingers of pleasure through him and he responded in kind, following the soft curve of her waist upward. He knew Clarke was dragging him too deep, that they were racing toward the inevitable, and he fought desperately within himself, wanting only a little more time to enjoy this experience. Just as he was certain he would lose the battle, she pulled back, panting and wide-eyed. He could not stop the selfish growl that escaped at the loss of contact with her body. He exhaled slowly and caressed her cheek while he waited for his brain to stumble back toward the original conversation.

"Tell them, don't tell them, it's up to you, Princess. Everyone will know about us by tomorrow, anyway. Because there's no way in hell I'm letting you out of my sight as long as those scavengers are around. Not for a second."

Clarke, also still reeling, tried to piece together what he meant. Her racing heart skipped a beat when she finally caught on. They had not yet had to deal with sleeping arrangements; Big Ray and his men had shown up before she and Bellamy had even really had a chance to talk, or to figure out…

…well, _anything_.

* * *

Finn limped toward Michael, who was sharing a quick lunch with Anya under the walnut tree.

"You know nothing about me," he declared.

"Fine, then, I do not. Please enlighten me," Michael answered calmly, looking up from his meal.

"I'm in love with Clarke." At that announcement, the older man's eyes grew sad. It was worse than he had suspected.

"Then you are a fool with a crutch."

"She -"

"She loves someone else."

"You don't know that!"

"I do, Finn. This is exactly why Martin asked me to speak to you. I have seen heartbreak, and false love, and true love, and many kinds of love in between. You and I are so much more similar than I realized, my young friend. You are in love with a girl who simply does not exist. Maybe she did once, and this world of ours changed her. I cannot know that for sure, and really… it is irrelevant. You would spend your life trying to make her into something you want her to be, and you would both suffer for it." Michael shook his head at the foolish young man before him.

"You must give up the crutches, Finn."


	15. Chapter 14

___[A/N: The lake mentioned here is Lake Barcroft. Pretty much every plant I have mentioned is real, common to the region, and does have any medicinal qualities described. The exception is the lake plant in this chapter. I hope that thing's not real! Also, the monument in the arboretum is the National Capitol Columns. Please Google them, they're AWESOME.]_  


_[A/N2: I am so grateful to my amazing beta, _Marina Black1_, for always putting up with my neuroses! THANK YOU!]_

_[CONTENT WARNING: LANGUAGE, VIOLENCE, ANIMAL DEATHS, AND SEX. YUP, THIS ONE'S GOT IT ALL.]_

* * *

In the short time she had known them, Raven Reyes had gotten the distinct impression that very little actually frightened the No-Man's Clan. They were friendly, and rough, and sported huge scars – in fact, more than one was missing an eye or a finger. So when several of the nomads began acting jumpy later that afternoon, Raven took notice. She searched out Monty, who was walking behind Jasper and Harper, eyes focused on the electrical components in his hands.

"Something's up," she announced quietly. Monty jumped at the intrusion on his thoughts, fumbling the two-way radio he had almost finished. Raven caught it smoothly and looked at the work. He was really good. She was better, but still…

"Raven, we've backed off. Whatever you're seeing between them has nothing to do with us anymore."

"I - what?" Raven asked, confused.

"What?"

"What are you talking about?"

"What are _you_ talking about?"

"I'm talking about the nomads," Raven clarified. Monty heaved a relieved sigh and looked around.

"They seem nervous," Monty agreed. "Have you told Bellamy and Clarke?"

Raven was not excited to share her observations with Bellamy. She knew he would see it as verification of his suspicions… but Monty was right, they both needed to know. She searched for Clarke first, assuming she had taken up her usual watchful position at the rear of the group. Raven could always catch up to Bellamy later, wherever he was.

Fate was on her side: the pair were lagging at the back, discussing something that clearly had them both on edge.

"Hey guys, not to spoil the party, but there's something bothering our new friends."

"What do you mean?" A crease formed in Clarke's brow, and Bellamy gave her a look that Raven was pretty sure meant "I told you so."

"I don't know what it is – but watch them for a few minutes and you'll see it too. It's like they're nervous." Raven shrugged her shoulders subtly in the direction of the nearest No-Man's Clan member. Little Ray was peering out at the misty fields as they traveled, chatting very little and laughing less. Bellamy's mouth pursed in frustration, and he turned on Clarke, forgetting Raven for a moment.

"See, Princess? This is what I was talking about. What are they planning now? We _don't_ know them, and we _can't_ trust them."

"Or we could take Raven's advice, and try listening," Clarke shot back. Raven held up her hands in surrender.

"No, don't haul me into this. That was something very different." She gave Clarke a pointed stare which the blonde girl ignored, instead watching Bellamy in silence.

"I'm going to ask." Clarke set off for the front of the pack, where Big Ray was walking with Marla and Sterling.

"Clarke! Wait!" The tone in his voice was… wrong. Raven's eyes widened at the fear she caught laced through his words, where ordinarily she would have expected pure annoyance. He took off after Clarke with barely a glance at Raven; she turned to follow, and caught up just in time to catch the end of the conversation.

"- clear, that I am _not_ letting you out of my sight!" He had grabbed her elbow, and now looked as worried as he sounded. Raven almost felt uncomfortable, seeing him so off-balance.

"It's the middle of the day, and we're surrounded by people!" Clarke seemed frustrated. "We still have to be able to do our jobs, Bellamy," she added in a quieter voice. Then she turned and called for Big Ray, and Raven was left next to an abandoned Bellamy. His crestfallen face made her want to give him a pat on the back and tell him everything would be okay.

"So… how are things with you and Clarke?" she asked instead. He tossed her a sidelong glare and jogged after Clarke yet again. Raven sighed and followed. These two were really getting on her nerves.

As seemed to be the trend this afternoon, she arrived after the conversation had already started.

"Well, Pretty Clarke, the men are fuckin' jumpy because we're so damn close to the Old City. It's a fuckin' nightmare, that place." Big Ray paused and looked around at their current location. "There's a big fuckin' lake just a bit south of here. Nothin' in the water we can't fuckin' handle. We'll stop there tonight." Raven watched as Clarke, who had slipped in front of Bellamy as soon as Big Ray called her "pretty", turned to her co-leader and… touched her fingers to his cheek.

"Bellamy, look at me," she commanded. And he did. His eyes, which a moment before had been dark with rage, calmed under Clarke's gentle gaze and cool touch - and suddenly it all made sense, and Raven Reyes _laughed_.

"Finally!" she blurted out. She clapped her hand over her mouth quickly, ashamed at the outburst, but neither of her friends noticed. They were sharing a moment that had little to do with anyone else. So _this_ was what Monty had meant earlier, Raven realized. She grinned at Big Ray, but he just looked impatient.

"So, Scary Shadow? What'll it be?" Bellamy, still watching Clarke's face, nodded slightly.

"We get back on the trail at first light tomorrow, though. I want to put the Capital behind us by sunset."

"Fuck, man! There's not a fucker among us that'd stay in that damn town after dark." Big Ray turned south, still swearing. He led them another fifteen minutes, before announcing that they had reached their destination. The lake was surrounded by deciduous forest; it flamed in oranges and reds and yellows, a vibrant roof over the travelers as they set up their camp for the night. Big Ray and Little Ray insisted that tents be placed a healthy distance from the water's edge, and when Raven challenged this rule, Little Ray took her by the hand kindly and walked her to the water's edge.

"See that fuckin' plant in there?" he pointed to long tendrils of dark green, waving gently below the water's surface. "Fuckin' pretty, right? Except, that shit'll reach out and scoop you right off the land at night. It's … dammit, I know the word… it's a … a car-niv-al plant?" He looked at Raven for confirmation, but she just shrugged her shoulders, lost.

"You mean it's a carnivorous plant?" Monty had walked up behind her, and he sounded fascinated by the conversation. Little Ray nodded gratefully at the assistance.

"Yup, that. Fuckin' alligator rope. Hate that shit." He turned and stomped back toward Big Ray, and Raven smiled at Monty.

"Alligator rope sounds hideous," she admitted.

"Agreed." He smiled at her warmly, and Raven suddenly felt like getting away from the water's edge. Or Monty. She wasn't really sure which, just that whenever Monty smiled at her these days she felt… guilty.

"I should check with Bellamy about watch shifts," she said as she walked away. There had been some discussion of doubling shifts now that they were closer to the Capital, and she figured she could volunteer. She was handy enough with a rifle, and she rarely slept well anyway. Might as well put that to good use.

"Pretty Clarke, I'll be your watch partner tonight," Big Ray said with a gallant bow, just as Raven approached the small group that was trying to work out the logistics of the evening.

"Like hell you will," Bellamy shot back. His arms were crossed and his legs wide, in the stance Raven had come to think of as "Alpha Bellamy" because it brooked no arguments.

"Hey boys, let's go! Whip 'em out!" Raven called out to break the tension, and she caught Clarke's smirk. This kind of pissing contest was far too common among the mostly-male zero-g mechanics; Raven had developed a thick skin about it all long ago. "Big Ray, Clarke and Bellamy are kind of a matched set. You and I can take the second shift, instead." She was surprised when Monty piped up from behind her.

"Actually Raven, I think you and I should take a watch shift together; we can work on the radios then." Raven turned on him, about to say no, when Bellamy butted in.

"Good idea, Monty. So it's settled. Looks like we won't need your help after all, Big Ray."

* * *

Bellamy and Clarke were up before first light. Despite his prediction of the day before, the rest of camp remained largely unaware that anything had changed between the two leaders. Raven and Monty, taking the second watch shift, had simply offered their spaces in the tent shared with Zoe and Sterling. Clarke had managed a nap, but she was certain Bellamy was now operating on a severe sleep deficit. At some point soon it would catch up to him, and they would all suffer. She watched him carefully as he moved around the camp on sheer will, calling out orders to get ready.

As the sun crested the Eastern horizon it bathed seventy-eight wary travelers in golden warmth; despite its heat, most still shivered, wondering what today might bring. The road into the Old City finally ended at a dark, slow-moving river. There had been a bridge once but little remained now, other than a few half-submerged buttresses.

"How the hell do we cross that?" Raven asked Bellamy.

"We fuckin' swim!" Big Ray grinned, heading down the embankment as if this was the obvious option.

"None of us can swim," Clarke announced. The news stopped Big Ray in his tracks.

"Can't fuckin' swim? How the hell does that happen?" he asked.

"No rivers in space, Big Ray!" Regular Jack's voice called from somewhere behind them.

"Well, shit. Is there anywhere they could fuckin' ford it?" He asked the question to his men as a whole; it was Asshole Jack who answered.

"Hey, there's that shitty swampy spot up a bit," he said. "It's shallow enough, but it's a fuckin' mud pit."

"We'll do it," Bellamy said, nodding at Clarke decisively.

"Okay Scary Shadow. I'll take a few of these bastards over with me here, and we'll fuckin' meet you up there. It's up north, near those damn monsters, so we'll make sure it's fuckin' clear for you."

"What are the monsters, anyway?" Clarke finally asked. Anything that could set the No-Man's Clan on edge must be pretty horrific, but she and her people had already dealt with some nightmarish creatures. She found it hard to believe anything in the city could be worse.

"Oh, back in the fuckin' pre-war times, there was a… shit, I've forgotten…"

"A zoo, Big Ray!" Regular Jack yelled from the back, before his leader even had the question formulated. Big Ray grinned.

"Yes, fuck. Thank you! A zoo! They had fuckin' crazy shit in there. And then the bombs hit, and the animals that survived… They were all wrong and shit. And now they own this damn town. Just… you'll fuckin' see. Unless we're really damn lucky, which… well, we're not." He took off with half his men, leaving Asshole Jack and the others behind. Asshole Jack grinned down at Clarke and Raven.

"Bet you can't fuckin' guess why they call him Big Ray and that other bastard Little Ray," he began with a bawdy grin and a wink that seemed heavy on planning, but weak on execution.

"I'm pretty sure I _can_ guess, actually," Raven said with a smile. Clarke tried to swallow a laugh at her friend's reply. She just hoped Bellamy was not paying attention right now.

"If you ever want to know, you can just ask Big Ray, he'll be happy to show you," Asshole Jack continued, blissfully unaware that Bellamy had finally caught on to the conversation.

"Hey, jackass, back off!" Asshole Jack jumped at the sound of Scary Shadow's growled warning, turning hastily to his job of guiding everyone toward the "swampy spot". Raven slid into line beside Clarke, still grinning.

"I like Asshole Jack," she whispered. "Don't tell Bellamy; I'm pretty sure he'd have some kind of seizure."

"I kind of think he already is," Clarke answered back, watching her partner's shoulders as he walked. They were tight, and had been for the past day and a half. The only time he allowed himself to relax at all was when the two of them were alone. She decided to change the subject.

"How are you and Monty doing with the radios?"

"Okay. We've got two done, and we're hoping to have one more by the end of the day today. It's harder when we're on the move, you know."

"It's fine. You two are great; thank you." Clarke took a moment, trying to figure out how to ask the question that had been bothering her for days. She had tried to start a conversation about it with Jasper once, but he got so defensive she backed off immediately. Raven was different, though, Raven was good at being frank, which was just what Clarke needed.

"…Raven? I know you and Monty are friends... and I've been trying to find a good way to ask, but I don't want to upset him… Is he okay? After everything that happened with the Mountain Men?"

Raven paused thoughtfully. Clarke began to wonder if she had done it again, repeating her mistake with Jasper. It felt like everyone around Monty was working to shield him from her, like she was somehow going to hurt him with her questions… but when Raven looked at her, Clarke was shocked to find personal shame in her friend's eyes.

"Monty's a good person. And I don't think he wants to hurt any of us. So even if he wasn't okay, do you really think he'd tell us?" Raven sighed heavily. "I don't know, Clarke… Maybe you should ask Jasper."

* * *

It took a little over an hour to reach the swamp, and almost as long to cross the cold muddy expanse. Halfway over, Raven looked at Clarke and declared that as soon as possible, she was learning to swim. It seemed like a damn handy skill. Clarke agreed enthusiastically, just before tripping in the knee-high muck. Bellamy caught her, inches from an impromptu mud bath, and she clung to him gratefully, her hands gripping his jacket collar tightly. The part of Raven that was in charge of her big mouth struggled briefly with the part that was responsible for mature decisions. "Mature-decisions-Raven" lost.

"You can kiss her, we won't stop you," she teased as she slopped past them, refusing to look their way. Just in case.

"Bellamy, don't you dare…" Raven heard Clarke warn, but whatever Bellamy said, he pitched it too low for Raven to make out his actual words. She smiled to herself, though, when she heard Clarke's happy laughter in response.

Monty, Jasper, and Harper were the first to reach the other side; they collapsed onto the grassy bank, exhausted by the trek. Raven joined them, closing her eyes to rest while she waited for everyone to cross.

"Wow, do you guys smell that?" she asked suddenly; it was beautifully sweet, almost too sweet, and she opened her eyes trying to find the source. Monty was sitting up nearby, twirling a large multi-petaled white flower in his fingers. He caught Raven's eye and handed it to her with a smile.

"Water lily," he explained. "Although around here, I guess it could really be some mutant poisonous tree frog or something." Raven laughed and inhaled deeply.

"Holy hell! You fuckin' made it!" Big Ray's voice boomed from nearby, and Monty frowned.

"Oh, good. Big Ray's here," he said, although he sounded less than thrilled.

"Monty, you and Bellamy should start a club," Raven teased him as she stood up. There was too much mud still clinging to her legs, and she headed downstream to a clearer patch of water, hoping to rinse off a few pounds.

"How's the fuckin' monster huntin'?" Asshole Jack asked his leader.

"Better day than most to cross this hell-hole," Big Ray admitted. He turned without another word, heading toward the center of the Old City.

As they entered the remnants of the ancient metropolis, the teenagers fell silent. The scale was overwhelming: they walked through mile after mile of nothing, where once a thriving community had existed. Most buildings were gone, flattened by the bombs; occasionally they would spy a crater the size of a city block. It was not the buildings that had been leveled, though, that were most difficult to witness. Worst were the walls left standing, in whole or in part. On those walls, as if painted in memorial, Raven and Clarke found the shadows. These were all that remained after the first bombs vaporized people in the middle of their daily chores, or on the way to work. The two friends held each other and grieved to think that humans could be capable of this much destruction.

"Did anyone survive?" Clarke asked in a whisper.

"From here? Fuck nah. I mean, a couple people made it out, after. But the stories say they didn't fuckin' live long." Big Ray was quiet, thinking. "Probably good they didn't."

They were very nearly through the city before they got their first sight of one of the No-Man's Clan's monsters. The humans were crossing an overpass when Big Ray shushed everyone and pointed over the edge. One level down, a behemoth cat was stalking something in the shadows directly below. Its ancestors possibly included a cheetah, and definitely a tiger, although based on size alone Raven was inclined to think an elephant had somehow been invited to the party, too. When it pounced, the speed and force of it startled most of the watchers. A disgusting crunch and a desperate, dying bellow followed, and a moment later the monster came back into view, dangling in its massive jaws something that looked a lot like the wolf Jasper had killed.

"Fuckin' shame, that," Big Ray offered as commentary. "Those wolves are smart fuckin' creatures, and they're travelers - like us. These damn monsters'll eat anything, though."

Their next experience was while walking past one of those large, smooth craters. Several animals, probably horses or zebras a few mutations ago, had descended to get a drink from the pool of rainwater collected at the base. Now they were having difficulty climbing back out. Harper asked Big Ray if there was a way to rescue the poor things, and he just shook his head.

"They're already fuckin' dead," he pronounced gravely.

As if on cue, a blizzard of small white monkeys appeared at the bowl's north edge, their excited shrieks reaching the humans on the far side easily. They poured hastily into the depression, and soon the monkeys' calls mixed with the sickening cries of the horses as they were torn open by hundreds of small razor-sharp claws and diamond-hard teeth. Harper burst into tears at the suddenness of the violence; several of the younger teens actually got ill as the monkeys, now stained bright crimson with the blood of their prey, began turning on each other in their frenzy.

"We're fuckin' cousins with that shit? Unbelievable," Asshole Jack muttered as the group moved on.

By just after mid-day, they had made it to the eastern edge of the city. Big Ray, checking first with Regular Jack to get the terminology right, explained that this had been an arboretum. It had held less strategic interest than other parts of the city, and received less attention from the bombers. A monument still stood atop a low rise: a terrace of flagstones, surrounded on all four sides by elegant Corinthian columns. Several had toppled, allowing a better glimpse of the impressive detailed carvings at their tops. As the travelers wandered around, they were able to relax slightly. The Old City had not been quite as deadly as everyone had claimed, after all.

"BELLAMY! NO!" Clarke's terrified scream tore through the tranquility of the afternoon, and Raven and the others rushed toward the sound. Something – some huge, horrible dog-beast that should not even be alive, with mangled body, too few legs and too many heads – had the dark leader's arm in one mouth, and was dragging him back toward the forest edge.

* * *

_NO!_ Clarke's world blanched harsh white in the space of a single, painful heartbeat. Her blood chilled and she whirled around, searching out Jasper and his rifle. It took her only a moment to locate him and rip the weapon from his startled hands, but it was the longest, hardest moment she could ever have pictured. Clarke took off after the creature, barely aware of the thunder of the others as they raced after her.

This would not happen, not this way. She had let him in, opened her heart to him and he had made her a promise not to hurt that heart, and now it was happening all over again and she felt the ice sliding through her veins once more. This time she fought back, stoking the flame Bellamy had kindled within her, urging it to help her now in protecting him, and it responded to the call magnificently. It pushed the ice back, setting her hair, her thighs, her fingers on fire as she gained on the impossible mutant that was trying to rip Bellamy from her.

She fired as she ran, praying she would not accidentally hit the man on whom she had bet everything.

The thing fell to the ground, and Clarke had no idea if she was the cause or if Bellamy, holding their second rifle in one hand, had managed to shoot it. But she was certain it was not yet dead, and she flew over the wounded body of her partner, snagging his axe as she did, determined to kill the monster.

"Clarke! Stop! Clarke!" Bellamy appeared beside her, grabbing her raised wrist. He pulled her close, whispering into her hair as he did, and she released the blade's handle with a shudder.

"It's dead, Princess. You did good. It's dead." The adrenaline of the moment was fading. Clarke allowed herself a moment to recover, leaning heavily against him, trying to recall what she must do next. It was something important, something else to help him…

"Oh my God! Bellamy, your arm! Let me see." She reached out gently, but his jacket sleeve was in the way.

"Okay, seriously, what the hell is this thing?" Raven was standing nearby, staring down at the dead animal.

"It kind of reminds me of Cerberus," Bellamy said, and Clarke gave him a surprised look.

"Cerberus? How do you -?"

"I know stuff, Clarke," he groused. He tried moving his arm experimentally, but groaned and flinched at the pain. Clarke insisted on taking him back to the monument, where she had dropped her bag of medical supplies.

"You are such an idiot," she complained as she helped Bellamy shed his jacket. The attack had surprised them both; the creature had leapt at Clarke from the bushes at the base of the hill, and Bellamy had thrown himself in the way, blocking the creature's assault with his arm. Its teeth caught him just above the elbow, and Clarke did her best to stay calm as she examined and cleaned his bicep. Thankfully Monty had just finished making a salve from the nasturtium leaves; she applied all of it to Bellamy's wounds before bandaging him. He looked down at her work suspiciously.

"That seems like a lot of ointment," he tried. He opted not to point out that her shaky hands had made miserable work of tying off the gauze, too.

"Dammit Bellamy!" Clarke stood and bit her lip, trying to hold herself together. Finally, she just shook her head and walked away in search of Raven.

* * *

It was another hour and a half before they had cleared the Capital and Big Ray's men were once again their jovial, carefree selves. Raven eyed Clarke cautiously, sure the trauma back at the monument had to be having some effect, but her friend had adopted a calm and authoritative demeanor, a stoic example to the rest of them. The only crack she saw was when Clarke demanded they make camp as soon as it was deemed safe, refusing to listen to Big Ray or even to look at Bellamy. There were still a couple hours of daylight, but Clarke was adamant. They were done for the day. They set up camp at the top of a broad hill, with clear views in all directions.

Monty and Raven had stayed apart for most of the afternoon and evening, but they found themselves sitting together at dinner. He was so nice to her, the whole time. It was killing her because she knew she did not deserve his kindness. Finally she excused herself, needing to get away from him.

"I'm going to keep working on the radios," she explained to Harper and Jasper. She was not really sure if they even heard her, lost as they were in their own little world.

"I'll go with you. I can help," Monty volunteered, standing up and trotting after her.

"No. I'm good." She was halfway to their tent, but he still had not taken the hint.

"But it would be faster if -"

"I said, I'm good, Monty! You don't have to be so fucking helpful all the time!" she lashed out. She wanted him gone, and he wouldn't leave. It was so damn infuriating.

Monty watched her carefully.

"Raven, are you okay?" he asked softly. She shook her head, not trusting her voice. He frowned and stepped closer. "Listen, Raven, whatever it is… You can always talk to me about it, you know that, right?"

She melted then, her shoulders dropping and the floodgates opening.

"Why are you being so damn _nice_ to me? You should hate me! I'm the one that got you captured by the Mountain Men! _Me_, Monty! It was all my fault! If I had just _listened_ to you about that feedback, they wouldn't ha- have… oh, god…" Raven dissolved into guilty tears.

Without thinking about it, Monty grabbed her into a hug, letting her cry as long as she needed to. He tried to respond, but her words and her guilt had brought up memories of Mount Weather - memories he had worked so hard to suppress. It took a while to push them back down.

When he finally had control over his emotions again, Monty's voice was just as kind and gentle as ever.

"Raven - you did what you thought was right. I would never blame you for that. I promise. Okay?" He held her for a minute more, unsure of what else he could offer to calm her. Her tears eventually slowed, and Monty pulled back slightly, smiling his most charming smile.

"Okay. So… are we good?"

"No," Raven announced, wiping at her face. "No, we're not good. Not yet. But I'll find a way to make it up to you, Monty. I swear I will."

* * *

Clarke insisted on taking the first watch shift that night, desperate to get away from Bellamy and his injury. Dinner had been painful: every time she glanced at him, all she could see were the creature's terrifying yellow eyes. All she could hear when he spoke was the sound of her own desperate cries.

At least Clarke had some privacy here, out on the edge of the camp. She could take the time to be rational. When he was near, he twisted the universe around him, and Clarke found it impossible to consider their situation calmly.

Which she clearly needed to do.

Because today could not happen again. She had no idea how to be both strong and soft; she knew it was a weakness of hers, but maybe some day when the lives of seventy others were not relying on her, she could work on that. For now, she had to prioritize. And their safety had to come first. In the morning she would find Bellamy and explain it to him, and it would hurt them both but it would hurt _so much less_ than the death of him would, if she let him get any closer.

"You're being very quiet tonight." Bellamy's voice was a purr in the darkness, and she hated how her heart reacted instantly, a deafening drum inside her.

"How long have you been here?"

"I'm not letting you out of my sight, I told you that." It was unfair. His voice enveloped her in its deep warmth, and she struggled to retain that rationality of which she had been so certain a moment ago.

"You broke your promise."

"I didn't." He was no longer a voice in the night. He was before her, filling her world with deep brown eyes and dark disheveled hair and that pepper of freckles and the warm reassuring smell of him and a mouth that was capable of making or breaking her with a half-twist up or down.

"You did!" She could feel herself getting worked up. Once again she was back in that horrible field by the monument, watching him disappear, drowning in her agony.

"Princess -"

"No! You promised! You promised I would _not_ lose you!" Clarke was frantic now, and Bellamy pulled her in close. He let her collapse against him, holding her as she fell apart. He placed a soothing hand on the back of her head, his shoulder steady as she cried. He rocked her gently and made quiet, calm, soothing noises under the assault of her grief. Eventually the tears slowed and, placing one finger under her chin, Bellamy lifted her face to his.

"I'm here, Princess; you didn't lose me. I'm right here. I keep my promises," he whispered, kissing her forehead, her tear-stained cheeks, her hot salty lips, the flutter of heartbeat at her throat. He tangled one hand softly into her hair as his tender mouth sought out any exposed skin, wanting to prove to her that he was real. Bellamy needed to show her that he was still alive, to stop her grieving and help her see he _would_ keep his promises to her, every one of them. He ignored the pain in his arm as he reached out for the soft perfect curve at her waist - a curve that seemed to have been made just for the fit of his hands.

Clarke's breathing was shaky, and her body still ached from the tension it had carried ever since Bellamy's attack, but she kissed him back. Her previous resolve melted under the onslaught of his reassuring lips and light touch. Her own hands betrayed her as well, sliding up his chest, around the back of his neck, and into his hair, dragging him closer. She could not identify when it happened, but at some point Bellamy's caresses were no longer just comforting; they were hungry. She indulged that hunger, herself desperate for his skin, needing to feel his body against hers. Her nails dug into the back of his neck urgently when his hips pressed against hers and she felt the hard heat of his desire through their layers of clothing. Clarke's voice was throaty as she called his name, begging for him.

_"Bellamy…"_

He lay her back in the tall grass and the world shrank, became the two of them surrounded by nothing but the endless dark cosmos, their hands now desperately grabbing for hems and buttons as lips sought out bare, hot, yearning flesh. As Bellamy slid Clarke out of her sweater and tank top, his breath caught in admiration of the fullness of her breasts, and he removed her bra quickly, his mouth sliding over that perfect white skin toward one hard, sensitive nipple. Her gasp of pleasure burst across his brain, for a moment drowning out rational thought and he grabbed for her hands, pulling them over her head as he moved back toward her mouth, capturing her lower lip gently. She struggled from his grasp, reaching to strip him of his shirt, in her enthusiasm forgetting about his wound. He bit back a wince; he did not want to interrupt her cool fingers as they raked across his shoulders and down his back, finding the top of his pants and tugging them off. Bellamy grinned and pressed a light kiss to Clarke's belly-button; when she arched upward in pleasure, he slipped the waistband of her pants below her hips, his mouth tracing lower, exploring the newly-exposed flesh. She stretched before him fully naked now, and two sides of Bellamy warred for control: the part of him that wanted nothing but to please Clarke endlessly, and the part that wanted to take her, now.

Clarke stifled a moan at the vision of moonlight reflecting off Bellamy's broad shoulders, strong chest, flawless hips. He was so beautiful, and she felt a warm glow of anticipation as he smiled down at her. When he finally entered her, Clarke ached to scream his name into that starry night, to declare for eternity that she was his and he, hers; the universe deserved to be made aware of the perfection of his body, moving against her and within her, driving her up into that sky along with the planets and comets and constellations. There was nothing that would stop her from claiming him; she writhed against him as she breathed his name, and the sensation of her soft, supple body reacting to his sent Bellamy over the edge of reason. He dragged her with him just in time, and their bodies fell away, leaving only their souls joined in one perfect, frozen moment of fiery bliss.


	16. Chapter 15

_[OHMYGOSH. You guys. You guys!  
__Here's the thing: in case you were unaware, many hold that "Fire and Ice" was Robert Frost's nod to "Inferno," by Dante Alighieri. It's a whole thing with the layers of hell being hot and cold… Look it up. ANYWAY, please please PLEASE tell me you heard that they've just cast Raymond J. Barry to play the role of Mountain Man leader Dante Wallace for Season 2? … HE IS TOTALLY SENATOR CARY! Seriously you guys, Google him. And "Dante"? Come ON, son!  
__If you know me at all, you know I am an insecure mess who is always just one mediocre review away from wanting to stop writing forever. If I ever take more than four days to post, you can assume it's because I'm getting over a review. (THIS IS WHY MY BETA IS AMAZING. I love you, _Marina Black1_!) So for a hot mess of insecurity like me, finding out I hit THIS close to the actual show was just… OHMYGOSH! OHMYGOSH. *ohmygosh...*]_

_[CONTENT WARNING (I almost forgot!): LANGUAGE.]_

* * *

Anya searched out Michael, hugging her arms to her chest against the cold dawn. He was watching two of the outsiders: that girl with the braids who had been stunned in the escape, and the other one – Miller – as they shared a quiet moment at the gravesite of their friend George. The couple was holding hands, and Anya briefly considered killing the girl so that Miller would suffer. She did not like him. It bothered her that Michael did.

"He hates our people," Anya declared. Michael tossed her an absent-minded smile.

"He is scared, and does not want anyone to see," the gentle man offered as an alternative. Anya scoffed at the idea.

"Anya, he wants to be a good leader, but he fears he is not ready."

"Then we have found something we can agree on. He is _not_ ready," she declared. She did not want to sympathize with that young man, and yet Michael had such a way of showing her the other side, of connecting with her own insecurities…

"Are you sure this trip is the right decision for you, my love?" Michael asked her softly. She chewed thoughtfully on the inside of her cheek, waiting for the first wave of regret to pass so she could speak from a place of strength.

"I promised Clarke, and I am nothing without my word." She hesitated before continuing. "In fact, I am nothing _but_ my word now. I lost my rank, and I lost my soldiers to Tristan, who led them to their slaughter. My sister is dead. If I stay here, the Commander will hunt me down and end my life. What is there to hold me here, Michael?" She looked at him and her eyes carried a challenge, a plea, and an apology.

"I had thought… perhaps… Lydia and I might be enough?" Michael's warm soft gaze offered her respite, a promise, and acceptance of her as she was. She turned away from him, struggling to maintain her detachment.

Michael waited several minutes before speaking again. He sounded abnormally uncertain.

"Once I had many connections to the forest. Friends, family… Eden… But that is all gone. I am nothing more than a displaced leader without a village. I can be that anywhere, Anya." She felt the flutter of hope in her chest, but avoided any outward reaction.

"You would drag Lydia away from this place of safety?" she merely asked.

"What safety? There is no _real_ safety in our world, Anya. You know that more than anyone." Michael's hand found hers, and he whispered. "When you first passed through our village all those months ago, it was like I had found the sun again. Please do not ask me to sacrifice my heart in this way. I cannot bear it, my love. This is our chance. You are free of the Commander's rule, Lydia and I have no people left to lead. We could all start fresh, together."

Anya looked down at Michael's fingers twined so tightly into hers, and closed her eyes, desperate for clarity. _Weakness is death._ She knew this the way she knew where the sun would rise each day. She just could not see which path was the weakest.

* * *

Big Ray found Bellamy and Clarke just before daybreak, on the dark western crest of the hill. The couple was sleeping tangled into each other. He felt a pang of guilt for disturbing them.

"Are you fucking kidding me, Big Ray?" Bellamy said, not moving from his position, and the nomad smiled approvingly at this young man's incessant vigil.

"We're fuckin' heading out, Scary Shadow. Goin' North," he explained quietly. "I just came to say goodbye."

"Goodbye," Bellamy answered, and there was obvious relief in his voice. Big Ray had already turned back to camp when Bellamy spoke again.

"… Why North?"

"Well, when all that shit fell from the sky, some fuckin' huge pieces landed up in the lakes region. It's a fuckin' three day hike from here. We'll go scavenge whatever shit we can find. There's not too many dumb bastards like us out there, so we stand a damn good chance of makin' a big fuckin' haul." He turned again to leave.

"One last question," Bellamy called from the darkness. "Why did you help us? What did you get out of it?"

"I was never fuckin' helpin' you, Scary Shadow. I was always helping _her_. But… we're fuckin' traders, you know. All we have is our fuckin' good reputation as reliable men; if that goes to shit, we're all fucked. You never know who you'll run into, traipsin' all over the damn country."

Big Ray was silent for a moment, struggling with whether or not to say more. When he finally spoke, all the typical joviality in his voice was gone, leaving nothing but a dangerous whisper.

"Listen to me, Bellamy Blake. Listen good, because you need to fuckin' understand this: That woman loves you. She loves you in a way that _ought_ to terrify the fuck out of you. I wasn't sure until yesterday, but damn, kid. You didn't see her when she thought that fuckin' beast had you for sure. I did… And it scared the shit out of _me._ So you better love her back, as good or better, because if I ever find out you fuckin' hurt her, by finding someone else, or loving her too little, or fuckin' dying or some shit, I will hunt you down and kill you my own damn self. Even if it means I have to follow you into mother fucking Hell to do it." He stopped and cleared his throat, and became smiling, friendly Big Ray once again.

"So, we fuckin' clear on that? Good? Okay. Tell Pretty Clarke where we went." With one last smile at the still-sleeping woman in the young leader's arms, Big Ray slipped away.

Bellamy watched the nomad's retreating back and his heart thundered painfully in his chest. The great smoky beast he usually held at bay now soared gleefully, drunk on the nearly-unimaginable prospect of Clarke's love. It ached to show her, again and forever, that she was loved as no one had been loved before… But Clarke stirred, and Bellamy fought the beast back. He did not trust that part of himself around her.

"Good morning," Bellamy murmured into her cheek. Clarke released a throaty contented noise and pressed into him tightly, enjoying the warmth of his body. Still half-asleep, her fingers reached under his shirt for the hot skin of his torso and he hissed at her chilly touch.

Clarke opened her eyes slowly, then bolted upright, embarrassed to have fallen asleep when she was on watch.

"Relax Clarke, your shift ended hours ago," Bellamy assured her. Her brow creased at his deduction.

"How did you know?" He just snorted at the question and rolled onto his back, staring up at her, at the color in her embarrassed cheeks, her tangle of blonde tresses, the cute mole over her lip.

"You're really not that hard to read," Bellamy teased. He needed her back. He wanted those cold hands pressing into his stomach. He wanted those soft lips crushing against his mouth. He wondered how this could possibly work, how he would be able to function and lead when he had fallen so hard for her that he could barely remember his own name.

"Good news, by the way. Big Ray and his men are leaving," he managed to say, surprising himself. There must be some part of his brain that was helping him out this morning. Clarke frowned down at him.

"What did you do?"

"Nothing!" He laughed, and the spell was broken, at least for now. He sat up beside her. "They're heading North. Parts of the Ark landed there when it crashed through the atmosphere, and the nomads are hoping to find something valuable."

Clarke bit her lip. There was only one hard day of travel left before reaching Luna and her people, but she had gotten used to the presence of a dozen rowdy bodyguards on permanent standby. Without them, the group was once again completely dependent on her and Bellamy. The weight of that responsibility dragged at her.

"I should say goodbye," she offered, smiling at Bellamy as she stood. She reached out for her rifle and Bellamy handed it to her. It was hers now. After yesterday's attack, he could tell there was no way she would give it up again. As she accepted it, his fingers brushed over hers and her skin prickled instantly. It amazed her how much she reacted to every small touch from him, even – or perhaps more – after last night.

"I'll be right back," she assured him, and hurried toward the main campsite. She headed straight for Raven and Monty's tent. It was empty except for the sleeping Zoe. Sterling returned just as Clarke was leaving, and suggested she look near the main campfire, since it was almost time for breakfast.

"Raven!" she called with relief when she finally spotted them hiking up from the stream at the base of the hill. "What kind of range do those radios of yours have?" Raven and Monty looked at each other in confusion, then back to Clarke.

"I have two that might make it up past 10 miles, but really, all of them are untested," Monty admitted. "When we finally get a decent work space we can probably double that, but -"

"There's no time for that. The No-Man's Clan is heading out now. Do me a favor and slip the strongest one to Big Ray," Clarke commanded. Raven's eyes widened.

"Wow, that's unexpectedly generous of Bellamy," she commented. "I thought he hated them."

"It's not his order," Clarke clarified with a frown. "It's mine."

* * *

All the houses under Luna's care shared a few common features, no matter their size. They never exceeded one story; they were constructed of weathered grey boards to be strong yet flexible even when subjected to the harsh winds that periodically whipped along the coast; and none were less than four feet off the ground.

The small cabin Octavia and Lincoln shared, one of many set aside for the various guests that frequented Luna's thriving trading community, was essentially a single room anchored to eight tall posts, accessible via a short staircase that led to a small porch running along the eastern wall.

Octavia slipped outside early, eager to greet the ripe red sun peeking over the waves. The storm had blown through hard and fast, and as Octavia leaned against the porch's railing, her bare toes wiggled into the layer of sand that had accumulated overnight. She was constantly battling the sand that crept inside the hut. Not that she minded; it was a small price to pay for a life like this. After all that time under a floor, inside a tiny room, within a tin-can space station… this endless horizon and broad sky was the world Octavia had been built for. She smiled to herself at the sound of Lincoln stirring inside. It had taken him a while to become comfortable on the big soft bed, but a few nights with Octavia in his arms had certainly helped. Now he padded out to join her, wrapping one strong arm around her waist and pressing against her back as he whispered good morning.

"You're getting soft," Octavia teased him. "I've woken up earlier than you for the past four mornings."

"I blame that bed." Lincoln kissed her shoulder and sighed. "It is impossible for anyone to stay alert under those conditions." He spun Octavia gently toward him and smiled down at her. "What do you and Irene have planned for today?"

Octavia frowned. Lincoln had managed to negotiate only a couple extra days of waiting; preparations for departure were still the primary focus of most of the village's activity. Octavia did not mind work – she wanted to help any way she could, as partial repayment for the Ocean Clan's kindness – but this particular work felt a bit like a betrayal of her brother.

Lincoln, sensing at least some of her internal conflict, cupped her face in his palm.

"I think today, I will take you with me instead. You have not been keeping up with your training," he chastised her. "We cannot have Bellamy believing I spoiled you in his absence." Octavia grinned.

"Oh, he spoiled me _so bad_, don't worry. He's a huge pushover!" She slipped away to get dressed, excited at the prospect of a day away from the ships and nets and canvas that served as harbingers of their imminent trip. A little sword-fighting practice was exactly what she needed right now. She wondered if Irene could join them, or if she would see it as too violent an undertaking.

"… Pushover?" Lincoln's voice called from the porch several seconds later. "_Your_ brother?" Octavia just laughed and pulled on her boots.

* * *

"What the hell is going on here?" Miller asked, confused. He was getting last-minute instructions from Martin about how to monitor Finn's injuries, and the rest of his people were standing around, impatient to get going, when Anya approached with Michael and Lydia in tow. Each sported a pack filled with supplies. Lydia was quivering with enthusiasm in a way that made Miller nervous.

"Does she need to use the bathroom?" he asked Monroe out of the corner of his mouth as he watched the child carefully.

"We're going with you!" Lydia burst out, now beside herself with excitement. "Daddy says we're going to see Clarke and Bellamy again! Oh man, oh my gosh. This is going to be great. I can't believe it…" her voice continued in the background as Miller looked up at the Grounder couple in front of him.

"How old is she?" he asked accusingly. "Because I'm not dragging a little kid across a hundred miles only to have her die on me at the last minute." His voice sounded harsher than he meant it to; Monroe's elbow to his ribs was a sharp warning.

"Lydia is more than capable of handling herself," Anya responded stiffly. "We raise our children to be survivors. And just to be clear, it is _we_ who must now drag the seven of _you_ across a hundred miles." Her eyes narrowed as she stared at Miller, praying for him to retaliate in some way. She would not kill him in Lydia's presence, but she had no such qualms about giving him a beating. Sadly, the girl with the braids grabbed his elbow in warning, and Miller simply frowned and crossed his arms. Anya almost laughed. She had seen their real leader do that. It was obvious this one was just a poor shadow of that other man, the one who had taken on Tristan bare-handed to protect his partner, Clarke.

* * *

"CLARKE!"

There was nothing pleasant about Bellamy's roar as he searched for her at their noon break. His eyes flashed angrily and several teens dove out of the furious man's way. Monty and Jasper took one look at each other and grimaced. _Trouble in paradise_, they agreed without even speaking.

"Clarke! You gave our best radio to Big Ray?" Bellamy thundered when he found her. "What the hell were you thinking?!" Clarke shot up from her seat next to Raven, her own temper automatically flaring in response.

"I was thinking we need as many friends as we can get out here! And that having a way to communicate with those friends is a good thing!"

"Our _best_ radio, Clarke?"

"Our longest-range radio!"

"You can't just make unilateral decisions without me, Clarke! That's not how this works!" Bellamy yelled.

"You make unilateral decisions all the time, Bellamy!" she shot back. Her pulse was racing at the suddenness of this fight, and she was aware hers was the weaker position – she _should_ have told him. But she had known this would be his reaction.

"Those people are not even friends, Princess! They're just… Pirates!" Bellamy had been looking for this fight for two days. Now that it was happening, the rest of camp faded and it was just Clarke, infuriating and stubborn. Big Ray's heartfelt conversation of this morning was a distant memory as Bellamy fumed.

"You're wrong, Bellamy! They helped us, and they never asked for a thing! The radio was a… a _gift_!" Their audience had shifted position subtly as the argument progressed, and was now encircling the pair, enthralled but clearly very nervous.

"Mom? Dad? You're scaring the kids," Raven urged gently. Bellamy glanced at her, momentarily distracted, then grabbed Clarke's elbow and pulled her away from their charges. As they moved out of range of hearing and continued their argument in lower voices, Jasper, Monty and Harper sidled up to Raven and watched carefully.

"He's going to kiss her," Monty offered quietly.

"No way," Jasper challenged him, "They're ready to rip out each other's eyes!"

"Hm. Half a day's rations?"

"Deal." The terms of the bet settled, both men turned their attention back to their leaders.

…

"He wanted _you_!" Bellamy rasped, his lip curled in an ugly snarl of jealousy.

"Don't be ridiculous!" Clarke scoffed. Her dismissive tone stung worse than Bellamy expected, and he flinched.

"I'm not being ridiculous, Clarke! He had his eye on you the minute they showed up!" Clarke finally heard the insecurity layered under the words, the ghost of Finn haunting them yet again.

It sobered her instantly.

"Bellamy…" her voice was a gentle whisper, pulling him back. She stretched both hands up, capturing his face; as with yesterday, her touch centered and cooled him.

He stared at her, breathing heavily, uncertain of what to do now.

…

"Just kiss her, dammit," Monty urged quietly.

…

Bellamy's hands wrapped around her waist and pulled her in closer as she continued in reassuring tones.

"You already offered me an out," Clarke murmured. "And I didn't take it. Remember? I'm not going anywhere, Bellamy." She felt stupid and selfish now. She had demanded so much of him, security no human could rightfully demand of another; and he had willingly agreed to all of it, without asking her to make any of those same guarantees. It was one-sided, and she had to find some way to balance the scales.

Her eyes reached for the goodness she knew was at the core of that inner heat, and she spoke directly to the beast.

"I won't give up on you," Clarke promised somberly. "You are _not_ my mista -"

His relieved kiss silenced her, burned through her, and brought her to tears.

…

"Best half a day's rations I ever lost!" Jasper shouted at Harper in satisfaction over the cheers and catcalls of their fellow travelers.

* * *

Octavia convinced Lincoln and Irene to join her at the water's edge after dinner that night. The air had cooled as soon as the sun disappeared, and now the sand sucked heat hungrily from Octavia's bare toes, but she refused to put her boots back on. The water lapped closer to the trio, responding to the pull of the full moon. Irene pointed to a long wide strip of brilliant green lights floating just beyond the jetties, and they picked their way carefully out along the stones to investigate better.

"See? It is the fish. They eat the plankton, and they absorb the glow," Irene explained as Octavia stared, mouth gaping. Lincoln watched her carefully; he knew how reckless she could be, and worried she was leaning just a bit too far forward.

"Octavia, please…" he began, his voice urgent, and she caught herself just in time. Octavia straightened and gave him a grateful kiss on the cheek, but then some new movement distracted her.

"What's that?" She whispered, pointing, as the green cloud of light began to shift. It separated, gathered, swirled, and became a massive roiling sphere just below the water's surface. Irene clapped her hands, now excited herself.

"Oh! A feeding! We are so lucky!" she called out, and Lincoln worried she might dive into the frigid water, too. "The dolphins are herding them, watch! They pull the fish into a tight ball, so they are easier to catch. Octavia, I am so happy you can witness this! Our people have great respect for the teamwork of the dolphins. Watch, watch!" and Irene fell silent, staring in awe as several sleek grey creatures became visible, circling the fish, compressing the ball of small animals ever tighter. Finally they began to dive through it in turns, gathering great mouthfuls of dinner with each pass.

"They are here to guide the ships," Irene explained somberly. She looked at Octavia and Lincoln and it seemed as if she was hurting. "We have relied on their assistance for years. This full moon is supposed to be our last journey of the year." She gazed back at the beautiful mammals as they swam.

"Irene, will the dolphins be okay?" Octavia felt a pang of fear stab through her. She did not want to be the cause of someone else's pain.

"I do not know," Irene replied honestly. "Ordinarily we follow the dolphins' schedule. This year we will hold them. For Bellamy." She bit her lip, not wanting to explain more, for fear of upsetting her friend. She did not want to add that every extra day meant a diminishing food supply out in the ocean, that they were deliberately putting the weakest animals' lives in danger. Lincoln and Luna had fought about this for far too long, and the only thing upon which everyone agreed was protecting Octavia. She deserved to be protected. She had been through too much already.

Once the feeding was over, Irene, Octavia and Lincoln wandered slowly back up the jetty to the beach. They were just about to head home when Octavia stopped them. She tilted her head a moment, then smiled apologetically and shrugged.

"Sorry. For a second I thought…" she paused again, straining her ears once more. "No. I just… it must be the ocean, but I thought I heard -" and there it was, Bellamy's voice, calling her name excitedly.

"Octavia!"

She whipped around and her face lit with joy.

"BELLAMY! I _knew_ it!"

* * *

_****I love you all so much for still sticking with me. ****_


	17. Chapter 16

_[A/N: My amazing beta, _Marina Black1_, is on vacation and STILL managed to offer some notes on this chapter! But even with her help, I'm fairly certain it's terrible guys. I'm sorry. I've been sick for three days and I think it really shows.]_

_[A/N2: We have created a Tumblr account (sparked in part by some technical issues on this website)! It's a place to let our 100-Freak-Flag fly. So please check it out (the URL is on my profile). It would mean the WORLD to me, since I'm brand-new to the Tumblr-verse! I will also be participating in Tumblr's Bellarkeweek beginning 7/21/14, including original fanfic.]_

_[CONTENT WARNING: SEX. Sorry! But I'm just really happy for them, and things are about to get bad, and they deserve some fun first. Sorry.]_

* * *

Holding Bellamy again felt like that moment on the drop-ship when she discovered he had come for her, had stowed away to _Earth_ to be with his kid sister. Octavia's heart swelled and she was certain she would never be able to let go, not ever. Lincoln greeted Bellamy warmly, but Octavia refused to release him even after the hug ended. Her arm stayed twined around her big brother.

Her whole family.

Everyone Octavia cared about was finally in one place, and she found it impossible to stop smiling as she introduced Irene to her brother and Clarke and Jasper and Monty and Raven and Harper and –

"Wait, where's Finn?" Octavia's mind flitted instantly to the worst possible conclusion, and her face must have reflected it because Clarke rested a comforting hand on her shoulder and explained that a few people were still following behind.

Octavia lifted an eyebrow in surprise that the group had separated, but there were too many other questions crowding for attention. She turned to Bellamy and struggled to pick one.

"Speechless, O? How often has that ever happened?" he teased her, an instinctive reaction.

"Oh, good; you're still an ass," she shot back, but their wide relieved grins, obviously inherited from Aurora, revealed the depth of their happiness.

"Octavia, I think your brother and the others must be tired," Irene interrupted softly, smiling at Clarke and Bellamy. Octavia winced, embarrassed she had not even thought to ask.

"Yeah – of course, you're right. Come on Bellamy, let's introduce you to Luna, she can get you all set up in the huts."

"Huts?" Bellamy asked. The word implied such a permanent structure. He was almost afraid to believe in the possibility of a night away from tents.

"Oh my god, Bell, they're amazing. It's like… like…" words failed Octavia again and she looked at Lincoln for help.

"You will get used to them eventually," the Grounder offered unhelpfully. Octavia smacked him on the arm but honestly, there was absolutely nothing anyone could say or do to ruin her contentment right now. The exhausted band of travelers shuffled along the dark shoreline behind them, thinking only of sleep. Octavia hung on to Bellamy's familiar arm and tried to contain her excitement.

Luna met them just outside the main building. She was warm but efficient in her greetings; she knew better than to tax them with an abundance of questions tonight. Only the basics for now.

"How many have come with you?" she asked. This had been the most difficult part of their planning, since Octavia and Lincoln could not predict who would survive the battle.

"There are sixty-six of us. And nine others are a few days behind," Bellamy explained, and he glanced at Clarke as he said the numbers aloud. It hurt so much, those dwindling numbers.

"Eight others, actually," Clarke corrected. She swallowed and returned Bellamy's look. He had forgotten that George would never make the trip, and she hated reminding him.

Luna, oblivious to their unspoken conversation, calculated sleeping arrangements quickly and frowned.

"I am truly sorry but for tonight, we must ask you to forgo some comfort, as only a few of our huts are available. There are two ships leaving tomorrow, and their crews are also staying with us. We can offer you more room and privacy after they have departed." Luna radiated concern for the paltry offerings, and Clarke stepped toward her.

"We don't mean to burden you, Luna. We're grateful for everything," she assured the beautiful leader.

"Why don't I stay with Lincoln and Octavia tonight, mother? My room can easily sleep two more," Irene offered, concerned for their guests' comfort. Her mother nodded.

"And Bellamy will stay with us, too," Octavia added with a grin. They had so much catching up to do.

Bellamy opened his mouth to say something, but hesitated. Octavia tilted her head at him and smiled, confused, curious, waiting.

"Raven and I can take Irene's room," Clarke suggested before Bellamy had a chance to speak again. Octavia watched as he frowned, and Clarke raised her eyebrows in silent response.

"Clarke -"

"It will give everyone more space," she cut in. Octavia realized Bellamy had moved past frowning now, into the stage where his jaw tightened and it was only a matter of time before he said something stupid.

"No, Clarke -"

"It's fine, Bellamy." There was a certain finality to Clarke's voice that Octavia had forgotten. She shook her head at their stubbornness. It was a miracle those two had managed to get here without killing each other.

* * *

The weary travelers had been sent off to their cabins and Octavia finally had Bellamy to herself again. Irene even coaxed Lincoln to take another walk, giving the siblings time alone.

"I missed you, big brother," Octavia started, settling cross-legged at the foot of the bed across from Bellamy, who was lounging against the headboard. She stared at him for a long quiet minute, her eyes noting the small changes in the planes of his face, the shadow of sleeplessness hanging beneath his eyes. She was sure he had pushed himself too hard, worrying about the others the way he used to worry about her. Well, now he was back, and she would make sure he rested. She should probably just let him get to sleep now, in fact.

But her impatient curiosity got the better of her.

"…So? Tell me! What happened? At the battle?" her whole being stilled, waiting eagerly for the storytelling to commence. Bellamy licked his lips and shifted uneasily. Octavia was expecting a grand heroic saga, of the kind Aurora used to tell when they were children. He had nothing so glorious to share with her. He was no nation-builder, he had not led a small but tough band of soldiers to victory.

"It was bad," he admitted, letting his head fall back and closing his eyes.

"What do you mean? You made it, you beat Anya and the Grounders," Octavia pointed out.

"Not like you think," Bellamy tried again. He struggled - as if it were happening all over again - with the shame of letting his people down when they had needed him most.

"He saved us all, Octavia," Clarke offered softly from the porch, and she poked her head in through the open door. "Sorry to interrupt; I couldn't sleep, and I saw the lights…" she shrugged, a little uncertain of her place here. Octavia was her friend, but when it came to Bellamy… they were so protective of each other…

He was at Clarke's side in two strides, grabbing for her hand with all the need of a drowning man searching out a lifeline. She let him drag her inside, let him pull her down onto the bed beside him; she let him, because this was her secret wish. _Bellamy_.

He refused to release her hand. It had hurt to think of Clarke spending the night without him again. That was not part of the deal.

The deal was to never let go.

It was the kind of commitment he had made to Octavia seventeen years ago... And now he wondered how she would react. Clarke watched Bellamy for some sign of what he was thinking; he watched Octavia for the same thing.

"Oh… My... God," Bellamy's little sister whispered, wide-eyed, her stare fixed on Bellamy's fingers as they twined into Clarke's. There was no confusing the meaning of the small gesture.

"I thought you didn't get along." That broad Blake smile crept over her face.

"I thought you _hated_ each other," she clarified, and her hands rose slowly, covering her surprised grin.

Aurora's decision to have a second child had been selfish. On a certain level Octavia had always known that. At best, she would have led a half-life on the Ark, the girl under the floor becoming the woman under the floor, until she was inevitably found. She had yelled at Bellamy for taking her to the Unity Day Ball, accused him of destroying her life; but she had said it in the heat of the moment. It was not _real_. Whether she was sixteen or thirty-six, the discovery would have happened eventually.

But that was not the worst crime their mother had committed.

Bellamy's life was just as shattered by Aurora's choice, if not more. Octavia was nine or ten when she first realized there would be no girlfriends for him, ever. No deep and lasting friendships with classmates. No true love, no chance at marriage and happiness and a child of his own as long as he was responsible for the girl under the floor. The first time she ever swore, Octavia was hiding in her hole as an inspection came through. She heard Bellamy drop something, heard it clatter and spill across the panel above her. She heard the guard's irritated voice, her mother's low disapproving murmur, and when she looked up she saw the bright red tassel hanging there, one end stuck in the crack of the floor. Bellamy had just saved her life and Octavia swore silently but violently in that little hiding place, swore like she was born to it, swore at Aurora for doing this to him, swore at the guard for humiliating him, swore at herself for being the cause of his hurt.

And now, somehow, Clarke was here to fix all that. Clarke could patch up the holes Aurora had torn in Bellamy Blake. Octavia's huge heart exploded, tears spilling openly down her cheeks; Clarke stared at her, confused and concerned.

"Octavia, are you okay?"

"Yeah, I - I'm just…" Octavia's voice failed her. She sniffed and shrugged and smiled, helpless to explain how grateful she was for the blonde woman at her brother's side.

* * *

Together, filling in the parts they knew and occasionally interrupting each other to clarify a detail or ask a question of their own, Bellamy and Clarke spent the rest of the evening outlining what had happened since the battle. Clarke winced to hear his perspective on the abduction by the Mountain Men, and again when he spoke of the bear that attacked Finn. Clarke tried to describe the inside of the Mount Weather facility, but words failed to accurately convey its chilling impersonality or the terror Senator Fulton still left within her. Irene and Lincoln returned while they were speaking, and Lincoln nodded at their description of the nomads.

"They have a good reputation among the Forest Clan," he said. "I have never encountered them myself." Clarke shot Bellamy a triumphant smile at that, but he refused to respond.

"What route did you two take?" he asked Octavia instead. "Did you go through the Capital?" Clarke shivered as he said it, the memories of all that raw violence still too fresh. Bellamy reached over and squeezed her knee comfortingly.

"No, Lincoln took us around it. He said it was worth the extra day of travel."

"He was right," Bellamy said. He tossed the tall warrior a grateful look; Lincoln nodded in acknowledgement.

"Why? What's it like?" Octavia asked. Neither Bellamy nor Clarke would answer her, and she turned a pouty face on Lincoln instead. "How bad could it be?"

"_That_ bad," he answered, nodding toward the sad eyes of the silent couple at the head of the bed.

* * *

Raven awoke alone, momentarily disoriented by the red light trickling in through a small window in this tiny room. She tried to remember where she was; she thought back to the night before, and that moment when they had all heard the strange incessant whooshing sound ahead of them. That moment when the ground softened and started shifting under their feet. She had been so tired by then... Even the moon reflecting off the ocean had not –

_- The ocean!_

Raven jumped out of bed, racing for the door. She slipped noiselessly through the main room and down the front steps barefoot, running straight for that endless sound, the whispering, sighing static that had filled her dreams all night.

She was not quite the first to hit the water's edge. A few others were there, toes sunk in frigid wet sand, squinting out at the pink glow now defining the line where sky met sea. Raven stopped next to Harper and Jasper, and the three of them stared in awe at a world that seemed suddenly and impossibly endless. For most of their lives, this ball of poisoned rock and water had been a distant image through a window, with defined edges and the proper scale. It was just a planet, one of many orbiting the sun, itself one star of many in their little corner of the universe.

But here, now, that scale lost all meaning. Here, Earth was as big as all the rest of it… and then some. The wind whipped at her, wet and salty and loud; the boom of the surf pushed against her chest, a nearly physical thing; birds flew overhead and into the sunrise and as they did, they changed from living creatures to black strokes of an artist's paintbrush to tiny pricks of darkness, and then disappeared entirely.

"Today, I am learning how to swim," Raven announced with certainty.

"The water's pretty cold right now," Monty pointed out, approaching them from farther down the beach. He took his place at Raven's side, smiling down at her. "…Not to rain on your parade or anything," he added gently. Raven stared out at the ocean and screwed up her mouth thoughtfully.

"No, you're probably right. And I'm sure hypothermia sucks... But - just _look_ at it! Don't you want to get in? Find out what's under there?"_ It would be like the most amazing space walk_, she thought longingly.

"No, Raven. That sounds horrible! Getting _under_ the water?" Harper's face paled in fear at the thought.

"I'll go with you. When it's warmer, of course," Monty commented. Raven nodded and smiled to herself.

"Good."

* * *

Clarke and Irene sat at the small table in the hut, speaking in hushed tones so as not to wake the Blake siblings. Lincoln was already gone for the day; he and Luna needed to discuss the implications of waiting for Miller and Finn to arrive with the last of the teenagers.

"How do you know Lincoln?" Clarke asked Irene.

"Actually, we have not seen each other since we were small children," Irene answered. "His father was my father's best friend. They fought. I believe they fought over my mother, although no one answers me when I ask," Irene admitted. "Lincoln's father left the Ocean Clan and found his way to the forest."

"But you said when you were children you knew each other?"

"Mm-hm. My mother eventually arranged a reunion between the two men. She is very good at reading people," Irene explained with a smile and a shrug. "You have to be, when strangers come to your house every day asking for help."

"Like us," Clarke realized.

"No, my mother would say that is not the case. You are Lincoln's friends, so you are our friends as well. It is different."

They moved out to the porch and watched as young people, drawn by the sound and the smell and the salt, stumbled out of the various nearby huts and joined their friends on the shore.

"How did you manage to lead so many to us successfully?" Irene asked Clarke. "It is quite impressive."

"There should be more," Bellamy answered. He leaned in the doorway behind them, a frown of self-condemnation on his face.

"Bellamy, there shouldn't be _any_," Clarke pointed out. "We should all be dead. We've survived because you've kept us alive." She could not pinpoint just when it happened, but Bellamy had started counting every new loss as a personal defeat. She knew what that did to the soul, because she had been counting since those boys died in the drop-ship as they plummeted through the atmosphere. Bellamy did not deserve to take on that pain, too.

"They survived because of you, Princess," Bellamy countered with a shake of his head. Now that they had made it to Octavia, he felt adrift. Gone was the relentless drive to keep moving, to place one foot in front of the other, that had motivated him since he woke up alone in the tunnel by the drop-ship. And without that goal, Bellamy could feel the weight of their circumstances creeping over him like a cold damp mist.

"Hey guys, what's up?" Octavia interrupted from inside.

"We are planning our day," Irene answered quickly, smoothly, watching the couple with care. "I believe it has been a very long time since your brother and the others have been able to relax."

* * *

It took most of the day for Clarke and Bellamy to even feel comfortable with the _idea_ of doing nothing. They still had some work to do, too: Clarke insisted on introducing herself to the Ocean Clan's healers and offering any assistance she could, and Bellamy wanted to visit the shipyards. It was late afternoon by the time Irene led them to where they would be staying. Theirs was smaller than the other huts, designed for two. Besides a table and chairs - and a bed that took up almost half the room – the tiny hut was bare. To them, it felt palatial.

"It is not much, but we hope it will serve your purposes," Irene explained. "And now we should return to the others. My mother has arranged a small dinner for your people tonight, and we do not want to be late." She skipped back down the steps and toward the center of the village.

The main building, both a town hall and Luna's home, was already full when Bellamy and Clarke slipped through the door. After a dinner that was anything but "small" the entire group wandered back outside, filling the flat expanse of sand as they laughed and chatted. Theirs was a celebration based entirely on relief, on a release of tension, and as such the exhaustion they all still felt was riding just beneath the surface of the festivities. Bellamy snuck up behind Clarke while she was talking with Monty and Jasper, and whispered in her ear that it seemed like the merrymaking would be winding down soon. She looked around and noticed several yawns among the group.

Bellamy's prediction proved accurate. The party faded quickly. Most people had slunk off to bed, and Clarke and Bellamy were heading back to their hut, when Marla ran up to them.

"Clarke! I'm glad I found you. It's Parker and a bunch of the others. They were down at the beach and some stinging fish thing got them. Their feet are all red and swollen and... It's kinda gross. You gotta come!"

The blonde healer looked at Bellamy, who was frowning at the intrusion.

"The village healers can handle it. I'm sure they have more experience than Clarke."

"They asked for her, since there are so many people affected."

"I'll go. I'm sure it will be faster if I help," Clarke cut in, joining Marla. She shot Bellamy an apologetic smile and the two women headed back to the main hall. Bellamy watched them go, then stared up at the overcast sky. The winds were changing, and he felt the impending storm pressing down on them all. He hoped Clarke would have the sense to hurry.

* * *

_Jellyfish stings_. Clarke checked that one off a mental list of medical ailments she never expected to treat. They were not comfortable right now, but the dozen afflicted teenagers would be fine in a few days. Clarke bid the Ocean Clan healers good night and stepped outside, eager to get back to Bellamy. The past couple weeks had been difficult for him, she knew. He had pushed himself nonstop for so long, it was as if he did not remember how to slow down. She herself never relaxed; it was not the way she was made. But he should, and she was not sure how to help him.

She was surprised at how much the air had changed. As Clarke neared their little hut she broke into a run, and then a hard sprint, but it was too late. The storm burst overhead while she was still several feet from the door, and a bolt of lightning cracked to her south, startling her; she paused to look at the sky, which had descended ominously close and was sheeting rain over the whole village. The thunder arrived a second later and she remembered herself. Clarke lunged forward again, even though she was already soaked through. She pounded up the steps and ran headlong into Bellamy, who was standing in their open doorway clad only in his trousers.

"Not enough sense to get in out of the rain, Princess?" He shouted over the sound of the downpour, dragging her inside and slamming the door against the miserable weather.

Even with the door shut, the sound of the rain was overwhelming; it lashed against the sides of the building as if determined to reach the weak humans within. Clarke shivered and Bellamy held her at arm's length, examining her carefully. He had intended to spend tonight discussing their next steps. He had wanted to work out a timeline in preparation for their departure.

That was all gone now.

Stray tendrils of dripping hair clung to Clarke's cheeks and neck; her clothes were glued to every curve, and her nipples pressed through her rain-soaked shirt temptingly. Bellamy cleared his throat, but his voice was still tight when he spoke.

"You should take off your clothes." He realized that had not been quite what he meant to say, and tried again.

"Wet. Your wet clothes," he clarified, his hands already reaching for the bottom of Clarke's sweater. She smiled to herself as he spoke. She had just figured out how to help Bellamy slow down.

"... Hm. Have I mentioned how much I love this color?" Bellamy murmured appreciatively. Drenched as it was now, the top was just a shade darker than usual, contrasting sharply with Clarke's fair skin. He paused to watch as a bead of water, struggling free of her unruly hair, coursed down her throat, over her collarbone, and along the rise of her left breast before disappearing below the line of the V-neck.

There was something terribly appealing about the way he stared at her so openly; despite the chill against her skin, Clarke felt heat building just behind her belly button. Bellamy leaned forward, his gaze now on her mouth; yet again, his good intentions of dropping a gentle kiss on her flew out the window. She was just so… tempting. Every time he touched her, tasted her, filled her, he finished wanting her more. It could drive a man mad, knowing that each time would leave him more desperate than before, but still unable to resist. Her mouth parted eagerly against Bellamy's as his hands traversed her waist. When Clarke moaned into him it was like an electric current passing through his core; he tore urgently at the button of her pants, ripping it free. The offending fastener flew across the room and Clarke gasped, pulling back slightly. _Fuck!_ he thought, already missing her, but the laugh that escaped her was worth the brief deprivation.

Bellamy peeled off Clarke's wet clothes, and had to fight back the urge to push her against the wall and take her until she cried out in that throaty, breathy way she had of calling his name. Instead his hands found and cupped her face, and he bent to kiss her again, but she stopped him.

"No," she announced, leaning back. Her mouth was serious but her eyes danced with amusement. Bellamy growled at her.

"This isn't fair," she pointed out, indicating the clothing he still wore. "My turn."

Bellamy's world went hazy as Clarke pressed him back against the door, sliding her hands along his taut stomach. She sighed at the ripples of muscle under her fingertips, and pressed her still-damp body lightly into his, her breasts tingling as they brushed across his hot skin. She glanced at his face as she reached for the fly of his pants, and his eyes burned with that passion, that desperate need for her she had never experienced from anyone before. Clarke found it addicting, that burn inside him. Bellamy stepped swiftly out of the offending clothing, scooping her up in the same movement and crossing to the high bed at the other end of the tiny room.

Clarke sank into the quilt and stared up at him, biting her lower lip in anticipation of his next move. His rough fingers traced the contours of her body, memorizing the rise of her breasts, the dip toward her stomach, the soft skin of her lower abdomen, her firm thighs. Her hands twisted up fistfuls of blanket and she gasped in delight at the trails of fire his touch left over her skin. Bellamy bent toward one breast, pulling her tender nipple into his mouth, and she grabbed for his hair desperately. She ached for relief from the intensity he was building in her. Bellamy was now past reason, unable to think of anything but Clarke's quivering body. He shifted, grasping her hips and pulling her close as he slid inside her, and the sensation of fullness immediately pushed her into hot, crushing waves of bliss. She cried out his name and Bellamy grinned. He paused to let her recover, then began again, slowly at first, watching her carefully. Her eyes widened in happy surprise.

"I'm not done with you, Princess," he purred. "Not even close." Clarke laughed and reached for his face, stretching up to kiss him as she felt the next series of waves building slowly within her body. Helping Bellamy Blake unwind was more fun than she had anticipated.


	18. Chapter 17

_**A/N:** I am going to assume I've lost a ton of readers by now, since this story is so ridiculously long and that last chapter (which, I know, I was ill when I wrote it so it's my own fault) got fewer reviews than usual. But for those of you still reading... **Please don't hate me after this**. You're probably going to want to hate me. Please. Just... Trust me? Yup, I'm asking for your trust. Also, please understand how much I need feedback. It nourishes my soul and feeds the Muses and I go crazy with self-doubt without it. Lastly, I love you forever, _Marina Black1_, for putting up with all my shit and solving all my problems.  
__Thank you humbly,  
__J.V._

_**P.S.** It appears this website is having difficulty with automated notifications. I posted this chapter around 8:30pm PST (11:30pm EST) on Tuesday, July 22. I'd like to get a sense of who is/isn't being notified, so if you follow and would be willing to let me know what time/day you were notified, that would be SUPER helpful! MWAH!_

* * *

Monty managed not to smile when a wave knocked Raven off her feet and sent her floundering beneath the surface of the chilly ocean. Instead he reached down, snagging her hand and righting her. She coughed and shot him a grumpy look as she regained her footing in the chest-high water.

"I slipped on a damn rock," Raven declared.

"I know," Monty replied.

"And then that wave…"

"I know."

"I don't get it!" she continued. "Why is this so easy for you?" Monty grinned then.

"I don't know."

Raven huffed at him, and shoved Monty's shoulder just as another wave struck them both; he grabbed her arm on his way down, dragging her under with him. When he resurfaced a moment later he pulled her back up against his chest, his whole face a frantic apology.

"Oh man, Raven, I am so sorry."

"No, it's fine," she assured him, stepping back and grinning, "_That_ one was my fault."

Irene, their self-appointed swimming teacher, smiled patiently and asked if they were ready to continue.

"Actually, I think Raven's getting cold," Monty pointed out. Raven protested, determined to get through the rest of the lesson, but her lips were purple and they could hear her teeth chattering as she spoke. Even this late in the afternoon, the water was not exactly comfortable. Irene led them back to the beach where they wrapped in soft blankets to dry off. Raven immediately picked up the thread of the earlier conversation.

"We've been having lessons for three days now, and I still can't do it!" she complained. "And you're basically an honorary member of the Ocean Clan already." Monty laughed lightly.

"I can keep myself from drowning, that's about it. And Raven? … It's okay to not be the best at _every_thing," he reminded her gently, heading back to the hut they were supposed to be sharing with Jasper and Harper.

"I know that," she said. "I just… hate it." They climbed the steps and knocked on the door. Just in case. After the first few embarrassing walk-ins, Monty and Raven had figured it was easier to avoid their hut – and their lovebird roommates - as much as possible.

"We should work on the radios," Monty reminded Raven as they waited for the door to open. "Bellamy's been giving me that _look_." He shifted his face into a reasonable imitation of Bellamy's impatient frown. Raven laughed and then nodded.

"Let's just get the equipment as quickly as we can, and find somewhere less… crowded, to work."

Jasper finally opened the door, an embarrassed smile on his face; Raven and Monty dressed hurriedly before scooping up their supplies. Once they were back on the porch they paused, trying to decide where they could go. The beach was out of the question: nothing destroyed electronics faster than sand.

"Clarke and Bellamy's?" Raven suggested with a shrug.

The leaders were not in. Monty set up their equipment on the small table and sat down to work. "What's your plan?" Raven asked from behind him.

"Well, I was thinking we could try to increase the range on our existing radios," he explained. "I know we won't leave until Finn and the others get here, but once they do everything will happen pretty quickly. I don't think we'll have time to work on these at that point - and since we're taking two ships I, for one, would like our people to be able to talk to each other while we're crossing."

"Shit. I keep forgetting that part." Raven sighed and sat down across from Monty, grabbing one of the radios. They worked in silence for a while, each sinking into their own thoughts.

"You know, we should probably split up for the trip," Raven mentioned quietly. There was a beat of silence from across the table.

"I know," Monty said, his voice equally quiet.

"Because that way, each ship will have someone who can -"

"I know, Raven," Monty interrupted. "Can we not talk about that? Please?" His dark eyes looked up from the work and caught hers, and there was no hiding his pain.

"Yup. Not talking about it," Raven said with a nod. She tried instead to focus on the radio in front of her. The pair settled back into silence, until Monty grunted suddenly in surprise.

"Raven, wait." He tilted his head and adjusted the volume and frequency on his device, listening carefully. "Do you hear that?"

"Monty, I will never doubt _anything_ you hear ever again. But no, I don't h -" And there it was. A faint little sound, like a very tiny, very grumpy man, swearing up a blue streak.

"Is that... Big Ray?" she asked, incredulous.

"I think so, yeah!"

"Well, answer him!"

"Oh! Right."

* * *

"We shouldn't be wasting time like this," Miller complained as he and Finn hiked behind Michael and Anya. Lydia was toward the back, hanging onto Lara, completely smitten by the petite teenager and her long red braids.

"Miller, I want to agree with you, but did you see Anya's face when you made the suggestion? I think they have a pretty good reason for going around the Capital," Finn said. Miller snorted.

"Good enough to lose an entire _day_? That doesn't bother you at all?"

Finn did not answer immediately. He had spent most of the trip with Lara and Lydia, learning a lot more about Lara - and Sterling - than he ever expected. The conversations had given him some new perspective on a few of his own problems. **  
**

"The reason I used to have for pushing to go faster… might not be the best reason," Finn finally confessed. It was the first time he had ever made such an admission out loud.

"What are you talking about?" Miller asked. "Don't you want to get back to Bellamy and the others?"

Finn laughed a bit at the assumption.

"No, Miller. I'm not really that excited to see Bellamy, believe it or not. I _was_ really looking forward to seeing someone else... But recently I've started to wonder... Maybe it was all in my head. Or at least, parts of it. You know?"

Miller stared at Finn, now openly confused.

"What in the honest to fuck are you talking about?"

"Never mind," Finn muttered. Talking to Miller was starting to feel like a chore.

"Hey, Finn?" Lydia appeared at his side, looking up expectantly.

"Hi Lydia; can I help you with something?" He smiled at her but kept moving. Anya did not set an unreasonable speed; she just never stopped. It was a soldier's pace, something that could be sustained for hour after hour over long distances.

"Lara and I were wondering about the ocean. What's it like?"

"Oh." Finn blinked in surprise. "You know, I've never actually been there. Maybe Anya would know more about it."

"No, she's never been either. None of us have," Lydia said.

"Wait... then how the hell is she our guide?" Miller interrupted, suddenly feeling betrayed. "See, she _doesn't_ know what she's doing, Finn, I told you!" That Grounder Bitch had just assumed she would be in charge; and now it turned out she was as lost as the rest of them. _Damn Grounders,_ Miller swore to himself.

"Hang on Miller! Lincoln said his map was one of the spoils of war. And since he was Anya's soldier, I'm pretty sure she knows what she's doing," Finn said soothingly. He knew Miller and Anya had been searching for any excuse to fight since before they left. A brawl now would be disastrous for all of them.

"Yeah? Did you ask her, though? I didn't, because I thought she knew. She's from here. And now the kid tells us this? Come _on_, Finn." Miller fumed silently for another moment, then shook his head decisively. "I'm going to talk to her."

Lydia watched Miller push his way toward Michael and Anya, and sighed knowingly.

"That man has trust issues," she declared. Finn burst into laughter at Lydia's diagnosis.

"I think all of us who came down here do," he explained. "There were a lot of unpleasant experiences that brought us to this point."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, take Miller for example. The reason he's on Earth – the reason any of us are – is that we broke the law. Miller stole something." Lydia's eyes widened and she clicked her tongue disapprovingly as she stared at Miller's back in immediate judgment.

"But wait... Lydia, have you asked what he stole?" Finn gently prodded.

"Oh. Right. What did he steal?" Lydia asked dutifully.

"Food. On our space station, every calorie mattered. Our meals kept us alive, but they were terrible. Hardly meals at all, really," Finn explained, thinking especially of the meager rations handed out by Nygel and the others in the cafeteria. "Anyway, Miller's grandfather got very sick, and he wasn't able to keep food down. So Miller tried to get him some extra rations, and he was caught."

"Oh, no!" Lydia tilted her head, suddenly feeling guilty for her earlier reaction. "I mean, Miller was just trying to do the right thing, wasn't he? Helping someone? That wasn't very fair of them."

"Mm-hm." The pair of travelers fell silent, and Finn's thoughts had already drifted back to the Anya/Miller conflict, when Lydia piped up again.

"What about you, Finn? Who were you trying to help when you got arrested?"

"I… " Finn stopped walking, and closed his eyes as the shame of his crime caught up with him for the first time. Who was he helping? On an unauthorized space walk? He was just trying to escape life for a little while. There had been nothing noble or selfless about his actions at all. "_Nobody_. Nobody but myself, Lydia," he whispered. He felt the weight of that knowledge settle on his soul as a thick layer of gritty, grey dust.

* * *

"Clarke! Clarke! You have to come back with me. Now!" Raven gasped, bursting into the small building used by the Ocean Clan's healers. Clarke looked up from her work and her brow furrowed immediately.

"Raven," she chided her friend, "People are resting!"

"No. You don't understand." Raven stamped one foot impatiently and grabbed Clarke's hand, yanking her out the door. "It's Abby! She's alive, and she's on Earth!"

* * *

Her heart hurt, thinking hurt, but Clarke raced for the hut, cursing at the shifting treacherous sand that seemed to pull against her, slowing her. She needed to hear it for herself, needed proof that her mother had survived somehow, that she was near. The need propelled her blindly forward.

She burst into the room and looked at Monty expectantly, panting hard.

"Where's my mom? Can I talk to her?"

Monty stared back; his face was ashen, his lips pinched into a thin, horrified line.

"Clarke… they have her. The Mountain Men." His voice was shaky and filled with terror. Clarke sank slowly to her knees as her world went dark.

* * *

Clarke could tell she had been moved to the bed. She heard Bellamy's voice, hard and angry, and she reached out for him, to try and calm him, but he was too far away.

"Shit Monty, what the hell were you thinking? You can't just do that to her! … She thought her mom was _dead_!" Bellamy had dragged Monty out to the porch and was berating him furiously. Raven stepped between them, her face inches from Bellamy's as she tried to get him to back down.

"It's the fucking Mountain Men, Bellamy! _You weren't there_! You don't know what he went through, none of us do!" she yelled, pushing against his chest.

"Guys, please, just stop," Monty tried, but he was drowned out by the noise of Raven's hotheadedness crashing into Bellamy's protectiveness.

"Monty shouldn't have had to deal with that news by himself either! But that doesn't bother you at all! That he was _alone_ when Big Ray told him the Mountain Men had taken even more of our people?" She glanced at Monty, guilt stealing over her features even now.

"I don't care _who_ it is, Monty should have known better than to break it to Clarke like that! Without me here!" Bellamy snarled, shaking his head angrily. These two should realize just how lucky they were. If it had been anyone else who pulled something like this, Bellamy would have thrown them over the railing by now.

"Bellamy, it's fine," Clarke said, walking out to join him. She was embarrassed at her earlier moment of weakness, and determined not to let it happen again. "Monty. Are you okay?" She turned to her friend, a little scared to see his reaction but needing to know for sure.

"Yeah, I'm… I will be," he said. Raven abandoned her attack of Bellamy, grabbing Monty's hand in solidarity and watching his face carefully.

"I need to know what happened to her, Monty. What did Big Ray tell you?" Clarke asked as gently as she could.

"Just, um, that they ran into a bunch of survivors from the Ark. Sinclair was with them, he's from Engineering, he worked comms on the Ark, he's the one who was able to boost the radio's signal -"

"I don't care about the damn radio, Monty!" Her voice was harsher than she intended. She stopped, counting to three silently. "Just… please. Please focus." Monty nodded and rushed through the rest of the story.

"- And Sinclair told the No-Man's Clan about how they were traveling toward Mount Weather hoping to meet up with us when they were attacked and half their people were taken, including your mom, but Sinclair didn't know who did it, although Big Ray says it sounds like the M-Mountain Men for sure." He sank into silence after that, squeezing Raven's hand and avoiding Bellamy's livid stare.

Clarke's gaze flickered over the three of them. She nodded decisively.

"I have to go," Clarke announced, surprised at how calm her voice sounded. She went back inside and started throwing gear into her pack.

"Wait, Clarke," Bellamy called. He and the others followed after her, and suddenly the hut felt far too small for Clarke's taste. She stopped, her hands wrapping tightly around the strap of her bag as she searched for her voice. She felt that slide again, the smooth cool ice creeping up from her fingers and toes and reaching toward the bright steady flame within her chest. She knew she could not face him again until the ice had done its job of sealing her heart away.

"Bellamy, she's the only family I have left. I have to go to her. You _must_ understand that," she said, making sure the words came out with all the strength and conviction she could conjure.

"Then I'm going with you," he announced instantly from just over her shoulder, exactly as she knew he would. But the ice had not made it to her heart in time, the flame was still too bright and hot and stubborn. Her face contorted briefly in pain, and she bit her lips together as she waited for the ability to answer him.

"You can't come. Octavia and the others... They need you here." Clarke still refused to look at him. She wanted to hide from these people who cared so much, to curl up on that white bed in that white room under that hateful mountain, and wait for the diamond-hard shell to form around her heart, the shell that had kept her alive back then.

Because there was no way she could survive this moment without it.

Bellamy felt it, felt her words slice through him with the precision of a sharp blade, felt his soul split in half. Octavia and their people… or Clarke. His eyes widened and his heart raced as he struggled with the dilemma that had fallen on their happiness and security so abruptly.

"Clarke, I…"

"No!" She risked a glance at him now, and wished she hadn't. He looked as lost as he had the night he killed Dax to save her.

"No," she repeated in a whisper. "You think you have to make a choice, Bellamy. And you don't. Because I'm making it for you. They need you. And I need to know you're here with them, or I won't be able to focus on getting my mother back," Clarke choked out, her voice cracking at the end. She looked away and blinked back hot tears, then frowned and let out one long, slow breath. That damn flame was still there. Clarke felt as though it were trying to burn her alive.

"Now, I have to finish packing. So unless you're going to help with that, please leave."


	19. Chapter 18

_**A/N:** I love you all SO MUCH! I am so honored by each and every one of you who takes the time to read this story, and I cannot begin to tell you how **wonderful** it is to read your reviews. You are all SO GENEROUS! And I just... Aahhh!  
So. Much. Love.  
I hope I continue to write chapters that make you want to read and review.  
__And also, please send giant internet hugs to my fabulous **beta, **_Marina Black1_, for being absolutely the BEST ever._

* * *

Marcus Kane had been raised from childhood to fulfill a single obligation: keep the human race alive in anticipation of the day it could return to Earth.

So in one respect, he conceded as he paced the length of the sparse white room that now housed him, he could consider his life a success. Humanity had survived, and the people of the Ark were back on Earth. Mission accomplished. Break out the champagne.

He was probably supposed to retire now. Kane smiled ruefully at that idea.

The only upside to his current predicament was that it had automatically given Kane a brand new mission in life: e_scape_. It felt good to have a goal, even if he did not yet have any idea how to go about it. There was still so little he knew about his captors. They did not want him dead – so far - and they clearly had medical capabilities to rival the Ark, so he felt confident these were not the forest-dwelling Grounders the 100 had encountered. And he was pretty sure the ancient painting that hung in this room, of a young woman with dark hair and a mysterious half-smile, was valuable. He paused for a moment to remember the name of the painter… van Gogh? da Vinci? …Something like that. It hardly mattered, except as evidence that whoever was holding him had infinitely more resources than he or the other Ark survivors could have anticipated.

Food arrived.

As Kane ate he thought back to those first few days on Earth. The disorienting quiet left when the Ark's mechanical systems disappeared… the rustle and whisper and buzzing of nature that rushed in to fill the void… The realization that they were too far North… Reuniting with the survivors from Tesla Station … Abby Griffin's persistent, driving need to find Clarke… The decision to leave their people at Tesla, and take a small search party South… The attack.

He was fairly certain Sinclair had slipped away in time, so perhaps there was hope of rescue. But Kane had no interest in waiting for someone else to offer him salvation. He would find Abby, find the rest of his team, and get everyone the hell out of here.

And then, maybe, he would think seriously about retirement.

* * *

Monty moved around the hut with frightening efficiency, pulling parts from Raven's messy pile of scavenged equipment and tossing them lightly into his pack. Jasper watched in silence for a few minutes, but finally he'd had enough. He tugged at his friend's elbow to stop him. This was madness, leaving the one place they knew was safe – and heading back to the one place they knew marked certain death. Especially when they actually had a chance at real happiness here.

"You can't go, Monty. Let Bellamy and Clarke handle this. It's not your battle!"

"It _is_ though, Jasper. It's the only way I'll ever get any peace. I can't let the Mountain Men hurt anyone else." He spoke with a strange conviction that Jasper found chilling. "Besides, I think I know how to make it stop."

"You'll die!" That should have been enough. A month ago, that _would_ have been enough.

"Well… There's a kind of peace in that, too," Monty pointed out.

"Dammit, dude, don't talk like that!"

"I'm sorry. I'm really so sorry. And listen, Jasper…" Monty started, but his best friend shook his head and held up one hand in supplication.

"Just - don't even say it. I know buddy. Me too."

* * *

"Clarke!" Monty called as he ran back to her hut. He crossed his fingers that she had not yet left. He pounded up the steps and there she was, her back to the door, shoulders curled forward. Obviously crying.

"Hey," he interrupted softly and she straightened, wiping her face hastily as she turned back to him.

"Clarke, you don't have to pretend you're okay with any of this," Monty said. He stepped inside. "It all sucks. But… I think I have an idea for how to make it a little more bearable." Clarke furrowed her brow, genuinely curious despite her earlier moment of emotional weakness.

"Take me with you. Get me back inside that mountain, Clarke, and I'll take out the Mountain Men once and for all."

* * *

A delicate orange glow lightly stained the western sky, hinting at the brilliant sunset to come, when Clarke and Monty slipped out of the village and headed north to meet the No-Man's Clan and the Ark survivors. Monty felt, rather than heard, Raven fall into step beside him. He looked over at her with an eyebrow raised.

"What are you doing?" he asked.

Raven shot him her "ask a stupid question, get a stupid answer" look.

"I'm learning to sew, can't you tell?"

"Raven, you can't come." He wanted to say more. He wanted to explain why she of all people had to remain here, but he did not trust himself to stay calm if they started that conversation. Raven filled in the silence.

"You're an idiot if you thought I would ever let you do something like this by yourself. I saw what parts you took. I know what you're planning, Monty. And _you_ know you need me if you have any chance of succeeding."

"No! I can't put you in danger. _Please_ don't ask me to do that." His heart pounded in his chest so hard his ribs hurt.

"I'm not asking you to do anything. I'm _telling_ you, we're partners." She searched his face as they walked, suddenly wondering if she had been imagining it all this time.

"…Aren't we?" Raven's voice now seemed unsure; it was so unlike her that Monty nearly tripped. So... They were going to have that conversation now, after all. He sighed heavily and slowed his pace just a bit, putting more distance between them and Clarke.

"You and Jasper, Raven. You're all I have in the world. But…" He stopped talking. He ached to be the man he was before, no scars, no nightmares, and no damaged soul. He wished he could love Raven the way she deserved, but what she deserved was someone whole. Someone better than who the Mountain Men had made him. Monty looked down at his feet as he walked.

"There's _so much_ I want for us Raven, but I have to deal with this first, before -"

"No. No you don't," she whispered, and she grabbed his face in both hands, pulling him to a stop. Tears spilled over and words failed her. Instead she rose slightly onto her toes and pressed her lips against his, a kiss that spoke tenderly of pain and heartache but also of healing and hope. Despite his own uncertainty Monty responded, wrapping his arms around her, pulling her close, warm with the joy of holding her at last.

Clarke, finally realizing her travel partner was not behind her, turned back just as the kiss ended. She cleared her throat and crossed her arms.

"No, Raven. You can't leave… him... without technical support." She could not say Bellamy's name. Not yet.

"You need me more," Raven answered with certainty, her fingers laced through Monty's. Clarke looked at their grasp and Raven caught the painful sadness in her features. She pulled her hand away and bit her lip ruefully.

"I'm sorry, Clarke," she whispered, suddenly realizing just how hard this trip was going to be for the three of them.

* * *

Bellamy was sitting at the table in Octavia's hut with his head in his hands when she burst through the door and stopped a few feet away from him, out of breath. Her brother looked like a broken man.

"Shit Bell, I just heard! - Has she left yet?" Octavia gasped. Bellamy looked up at her, his eyes dull with pain. He nodded.

"Two hours ago."

"Bellamy, you have to go after her."

He moaned and dragged his hands through his curls, letting his head sink toward the table once more. The last time Octavia had seen him this bad was the day they floated Aurora.

"Don't start that, O. She was right, I have to stay here with you. _She_ should…" No. That was unfair. He could not even finish the _thought_ of asking Clarke to leave her mother behind, leave her at the mercy of the Mountain Men.

"She's making the right decision," he said instead. "We have work to do. We've got to get everyone ready. Miller and the others should be here any day now."

"Bellamy." Octavia searched out his eyes, trying to help him understand. "This... This is... Wrong." She sat down opposite him and grabbed his hands as she built up the courage to tell him what he needed to hear.

"The ships sail in three days. She'll never make it back in time," Octavia finally managed.

At the declaration, her brother jumped up and began to pace. The fiery beast within dragged him from one end of the room to the other, frantic at his betrayal, struggling to overcome this heartbreak. Octavia continued, determined now to get through this conversation.

"But not even _that_ matters. Because you're just sending her to her death, Bell."

"_You think I don't know that?!_" Bellamy finally exploded. He stopped in front of Octavia, gripping her shoulders desperately. His face was a rictus of pain and his dark eyes drilled into her, begging for help.

"I _cannot_ win! If I make her stay, she'll hate me forever, for being the one who left her mother to die; and if I go after her, she'll know I abandoned our people and she'll never forgive me! _So tell me_, Octavia! Tell me what to do, because honestly, I can't see how to fix this!"

Octavia stared at him in sympathy. She was his little sister. His responsibility. He had looked out for her as long as she could remember… at least now she could return the favor.

"You need her, Bellamy. And she needs you, too... So you _go to her_. Lincoln and Luna and I will take care of everyone else. We're safe here, okay? We'll be fine without you for a few days."

Bellamy stepped back, thinking, still unsure.

"O, I can't lose you again," he said, his voice cracking as he shook his head. "And you're right, we'd never make it back in time."

"You won't get rid of me that easily, Bell." Octavia said through the tears that had sprung to her eyes without warning. "I'm always going to be around to annoy you. I'll talk to Luna, figure out some way for you to join us later. But right now you have to go with Clarke, or _I'll_ never forgive you. _Ever_." Apparently her big brother still needed to be reminded that Octavia had grown up. She grabbed his face in her hands and glared at him in her best imitation of Aurora.

"Bellamy: I got this." She couldn't help a teary smile as she said it and finally, finally, he cracked a grin at her use of his own words against him. Bellamy nodded mutely and pulled Octavia into a quick tight hug, lost for how to tell her what it meant, that she could relieve him of this burden.

"Are you sure?" he asked, pausing briefly at the door.

"Fuck off," she laughed.

"Right. Love you, too, O." And he disappeared.

"Love you, Bell," Octavia whispered into the now-vacant room.

* * *

The dark hut already felt emptier, colder without Clarke's presence. Bellamy shook his head, trying to rid his thoughts of that chilling feeling. He grabbed blindly for supplies, not really sure what he was packing, but determined now to make up for lost time. There was a sharp pricking in his chest at the idea of willfully leaving their people, after everything they had been through to reach the coast; but then his eyes fell on the bed. He was overwhelmed by memories of Clarke - of her smell, her skin, her voice – and he knew Octavia was right.

He fled the haunted building quickly and turned North. The moon was waning but still large enough to provide plenty of light for his journey. He had not gotten far when he spotted two people arguing at the shoreline. Bellamy's natural instincts kicked in and he veered toward the pair, ready to intervene. Just one last task as leader, before he effectively resigned his post...

"Jasper? Harper? What's going on here?"

"Bellamy, thank god. Tell Jasper he can't go!" Harper's voice was hoarse, as though she had been screaming.

"What?" Bellamy's eyes flickered between the two of them, lost.

"Jasper wants to go chasing after Monty!" Now she was getting really worked up, and Bellamy had to struggle to understand her. "I keep telling him he's crazy, Monty basically admitted it's a suicide mission, but he won't listen to me!"

"Harper, shut up. Jasper, what is she talking about?" He did not mean to sound cruel, but he had little time to spare and she made no sense.

"Monty went with Clarke. He's got some plan to take down Mount Weather. But Bellamy – he's like family to me. I can't just let him go by himself!" Bellamy's eyes widened at the news; Jasper and Harper were not quite done with their discussion, however.

"And so what am I? You're just going to _leave_ me, Jasper?" Harper grabbed his hands and clenched them against her chest as she stared up at him.

"No, Harper; you're different. I love you, Harp, you know that! ...This is just something I have to do."

"Fine. Then I'm going with you," she announced. Bellamy recognized the finality in that voice, but Jasper obviously had less experience negotiating with stubborn women. He did not realize the fight was already lost.

"Hell no!"

"Why not?"

"Because it's crazy and stupid and -"

"And_ yet_ you expect me to let you go by yourself." Harper released Jasper, placing her hands on her hips.

"Enough. Both of you." Bellamy sighed and gave Jasper a critical once-over. Then he turned to Harper.

"Tell me how you could help." His penetrating gaze scared her, and it took her a moment to respond.

"I'm, uh… I can track. Is that useful? And… and I … I don't know, I'm decent with a spear."

"… Good enough. How long will it take you to get ready?" Harper heaved a relieved sigh and ignored Jasper's protests.

"Give me five min -"

"You have two. We'll leave from here with or without you after that."

"Right. Okay." Harper raced back to the huts and Bellamy turned to Jasper. The younger man stared at him in frustrated disbelief.

"That was _not_ your call," he pointed out.

"Jasper," Bellamy's voice was low, "It wasn't yours, either. Now come on; we have a suicide mission to join." He turned and headed back up the beach to wait for Harper.


	20. Chapter 19

_**A/N:** For the very very VERY first time ever, I've made a fan video. I'm posting it on YouTube, with a link to the video on the Tumblr account my beta and I share (thundershirts dot tumblr dot com). The reason I'm telling you is just because: (a) SUPER proud of myself! and (b) it actually relates to how I feel about this chapter. Well, the last few chapters. And the next few. You'll see. Warning: first time ever so it's not very good, but I'm still crazy proud!_

_**A/N2:** I feel like this chapter is not so great, but my beta (the ever-AWESOME _Marina Black1_) says it's good, so I'd love to hear your thoughts on this debate__. Remember, the ONLY compensation we writers get is **Follows** and **Reviews**, so now's a great time to tell me what you think, or what you'd like to see more of! (Yes, I ended with a preposition - I'm going to call it artistic license, sorry.)_

* * *

Lincoln closed the door to the hut firmly and turned to Octavia. She was seated cross-legged on the bed, watching him with a tense expression.

"It is a bad one," he admitted. The acid fog rolling up from the South had sent everyone scurrying inside. It would be hours before they could venture back out again.

"What about Bellamy?" Octavia asked immediately. "And Clarke?" They had been gone less than a day, and already she had begun to fear for their lives.

"They know what to do," he assured her gently. In truth, he felt far from confident about their chances. This was a heavier storm than usual, and moving quickly. Lincoln did not lie to Octavia – he could never do that – but the list of things he kept from her, out of some instinctive and pointless desire to protect her, seemed to grow every day.

At least his words soothed her for now. She cracked a relieved smile and stretched her arms out to the tall, broad warrior. He crossed to her quickly, his large hands engulfing hers. Octavia's irrepressibility was one of her strongest assets; nothing could derail her for long. Even though he would always feel the need to protect her, Lincoln knew she could handle so much more than he had ever suspected… with one exception. He gazed down at her and his eyes darkened briefly as he considered Bellamy's current situation. Without question, the loss of her brother would break Octavia irreparably.

He hoped the man had enough sense to stay alive out there.

"We need to talk about the ships," Lincoln said gently. Octavia blinked but nodded, sobering at the reminder of this new level of responsibility she had assumed.

"Lincoln, we shouldn't go."

He pulled away sharply at her words, shaking his head. He should have realized.

"No, Octavia." His voice was kind but adamant. "I am sorry, but your brother knew what he was doing when he chose to leave. We will stick to the plan. We will get everyone to safety, and away from the Mountain Men and the Commander." Octavia knew the death sentence that awaited Anya and Lincoln should they ever return to the forest. They were confirmed traitors, and the Commander had no time or patience for that kind of weakness.

Octavia scrambled off the bed and stood to face the warrior. Despite the difference in height, she was still intimidating when she got that look on her face, that tight jaw and hard eye so reminiscent of Bellamy.

"Lincoln, is there really anywhere that's _truly_ safe? Danger seems to follow us no matter what," she argued, gesturing to the acid fog outside as an example. "But… at least this is home."

Saying it out loud somehow made it more real to Octavia. She had used the term internally, informally, to refer to the drop-ship camp. But as she tried to articulate her feelings about this corner of the Earth for the first time, she felt a lump develop in her throat.

"I've never been welcome anywhere," she said. "I was always a burden to everyone. But you and Bellamy and Clarke - you made me feel like finally, there really was a part of the universe that was allowed to be _my_ part. And it's here, and it matters." She shook her head. "I'm not explaining it right. Lincoln… this is home. I just… I can feel it. And I won't abandon it without a fight." Underneath the words, so deeply buried Octavia was not even aware of it herself, was layered another thought: _My brother, my responsibility_.

Lincoln stared at her, mute in the face of her determination. These people, these frightened humans who fell from the sky and landed in the middle of his forest… He had been _so sure_ of their weakness. He had watched them struggle and fight and die and had assumed it would take no more than a month before they were all gone forever... But instead Octavia and her brother had persevered, and Lincoln had learned about real courage, and sacrifice, and loyalty from the siblings. He sighed.

"How can I argue with you?" he conceded as he gathered Octavia into his arms. "And perhaps you are right. It is foolish to think we can find a better place to call home." He kissed her, hoping to draw some of that strength from her for his own use. "We will stay. And we will fight." _And there will be more death_, he thought to himself. Again, he chose not to share.

Octavia smiled brilliantly and then her eyes widened at a new realization.

"Luna is going to _kill_ us."

"Yes."

* * *

Bellamy silently thanked Harper for insisting she join this trip, as the three of them huddled inside a hastily erected tent. It was tiny and the air was stifling and stale – and Jasper kept kicking him in the knee - but at least they were alive thanks to the girl. Harper had noticed the animals fleeing, and caught sight of the cloud of acid fog behind them just in time.

Bellamy's mind drifted to Clarke and Monty and he frowned. The storm was moving north, which meant they would certainly be affected as well. He had to have faith in her. Clarke was smart and resourceful - she would not let herself be taken by surprise.

Even if she was currently distracted by the thought of her mother's capture.

Bellamy tried to focus on examples of Clarke's practicality, rather than on that one horrifying moment when they had watched the Exodus ship burn over the horizon, and she had fallen apart in front of him, believing her mother on board. It helped nobody to dwell on that memory right now.

He needed to focus on something else. Anything else. He cleared his throat and began telling the story of Ulysses, to no one in particular. He sifted through memories from childhood for scraps of the tale, reconstructing the great hero's many trials as he went. Harper and Jasper were enthralled instantly.

It was a skill he had honed as a child, the art of the story. A carefully modulated voice, eyes that drew you in and conveyed the panic or pride or pain of the hero, the right words in just the right order: it had all been for Octavia's benefit. She was his only audience, and his greatest critic. Octavia demanded perfection in her storytelling and he had often accused her of being a pain in the ass… until they landed on Earth.

His first speech in front of all those lost, hungry faces had been so intoxicating. The discovery that his inflection, his eyes, his words had power over the masses? He felt as though he had been asleep before, and awoken to find his destiny magically fulfilled. He had not truly realized the raw power within himself until then, and it was terrible and thrilling all at once to find he could tell them any story – especially _their_ story – and see them respond to him so forcefully.

And then Clarke.

To learn that she, of all people, was immune. To know she would not let herself fall for the stories. His respect for that hard-headed determination to see… not _through_ him exactly, but more sort of _inside_ him… well, that was how it all started, really.

Because the intoxicating power came at a price. There was the endless dependence of the crowd, the exhausting unrelenting helplessness. Clarke had stepped up, shouldered the burden with him despite all he had done to push her away, and somehow it worked and there had been that brief period when it all felt tenuous but right, when life had become: _Their people, their responsibility_.

He could never have imagined he would willingly give all of it up for her, or that she would be the one to tell him he must stay and lead. Bellamy Blake's whole world had gone sideways when he fell for Clarke Griffin.

"… And then what happened?"

"What?" Bellamy looked at Jasper, startled and disoriented.

"Circe. You were talking about how she turned the men into pigs and you just… kind of… checked out. What happened to Ulysses? Did he escape?" Jasper was wide-eyed.

"To be continued. Let's see what's going on out there, first." He did not want to waste time if the fog had cleared. Bellamy reached for the tent's zipper but Harper placed a hand over his.

"Hang on," she warned him, grabbing the front of her shirt collar and yanking the fabric up over her mouth and nose. The men nodded in comprehension and copied her before Bellamy slowly opened one small corner of the tent door.

* * *

Three hours to Bellamy's north, Clarke, Raven, and Monty huddled together for warmth in a shallow cave behind a large waterfall. They were wet but alive, and Clarke smiled grimly at that small success.

"Did I say thank you yet?" Clarke asked in an exhausted voice as she watched the acid fog on the other side of the watery curtain turn the air a dirty yellow. They had been surprised by the suddenness of the storm, pouring swiftly up the creek valley where they were getting a drink. Monty's quick thinking had saved them.

"How did you know there'd be a cave back here?" Raven asked him.

"I didn't. I honestly thought we'd have about a foot of space. Just enough to breathe," he admitted.

"Oh my god, Monty, the radios!" Clarke gasped suddenly. "Are they ruined?" Jumping through the waterfall had drenched them all, and she could not imagine finding Big Ray and the others without those walky-talkies.

"No, everything's fine," Monty assured her. "What kind of mad genius would I be if I let the equipment get wet?" His eyes twinkled at Raven as he spoke, and she grinned. Clarke heaved a relieved sigh.

"I guess that's another thank you then." She leaned back against the cave wall and closed her eyes. Raven watched her carefully. So far she was keeping herself together. Somehow. Raven marveled at how Clarke could do it, time and time again, tucking everything away like she did.

They were just wired so differently. Raven survived each new trauma by dealing with it immediately, fuck the consequences; Clarke, by filing the pain away somewhere else until she could process it on her own terms. Raven found herself worried though that lately there had been so much to pack away. So little time for the other part, the part where Clarke took it back out to deal with it. That hardly seemed healthy. In fact, it seemed like a recipe for disaster.

Monty peeled off his wet shirt and twisted it in his hands, wringing out some of the water. The movement caught Raven's eye and she turned toward him. Seeing the scars on his chest and back was always so difficult, even though they were so small they seemed almost like nothing at all at first. She had never dared mention them, in part because she knew each one belonged on her skin instead, and in part because she did not want to hurt Monty more than she already had. But so much had changed between them in the past day; now Raven stretched tender, hesitant fingers out to trace the marks. Monty's breath hitched briefly at her touch, but he avoided her gaze.

"There was a woman," he began, so softly she had to strain to hear. "I think she was a senator, like Cary. I never saw her, I just heard her voice over the speaker. She had people, and they did whatever she told them to. They never questioned her orders or looked at me. They were just… ghosts, Raven. Anonymous ghosts in gas masks and biohazard gear."

"Stop," Raven begged him. "You don't have to tell me if you don't want to." She shifted closer to Monty and leaned her head on his bare shoulder. Once again she felt the guilt flood her, and closed her eyes against it.

"I wish it had been me."

"No! No, Raven. No one else." It frustrated him that she still felt this strange burden on her soul. It also frightened him. Was she just with him out of guilt? If that were true, it would hurt worse than anything else he had endured on this planet. He grabbed her hand and pulled it up to his lips.

"If it had to be anyone, I'm okay that it was me," he confessed into her palm. "But no one else. That's why we're doing this."

* * *

Half a day's journey to Clarke's west, Anya held Michael as he wept for the loss of Lydia. There had been no time. The acid fog had appeared so quickly that they had barely managed to get to shelter. It was in the mad rush that Michael had lost sight of Lydia, and only when they were all deep inside the old tunnel was there a chance to call for her. Now the couple grieved openly and Finn and Lara looked at each other in shock and sadness.

"Guys? Finn? …Where's Miller?" Monroe finally choked out.

* * *

Lydia and Miller huddled together in the hollow beneath an ancient tree's root system, Miller blocking the small opening with his back. He had to stay pressed against the entrance or the fog would creep in. It was completely dark in here, and smelled strongly of mildew and musk; whatever creature had left that off-putting odor had vacated the space only recently, and Miller was absolutely certain it would never make it back now. The acid fog killed indiscriminately.

"Miller?" Lydia's voice was too close, and her breath tickled his ear.

"What, kid?" He did not bother hiding his annoyance.

"Thank you for saving my life." Her sincerity surprised him; he grunted wordlessly in response. He knew she had managed to worm her way into everyone's hearts and he took pride in being the only one who appeared immune. She was a Grounder, after all. Michael was about the most tolerable of all the Grounders, and that was only because he stayed out of Miller's way. Anya and the others could all go float themselves, though.

"Miller?"

"Do you ever stop talking?" There was a moment of thoughtful silence in the dark.

"I don't know, I never tried it."

"Well, there's no time like the present," he suggested roughly.

"Why did you steal food for your grandfather? If you knew it could get you arrested?"

Suddenly the darkness was filled with the deafening pulse of Miller's own blood running through his body. He felt hot and trapped and torn open by this little girl.

"Lydia..." It was the first time he'd ever used her name. "That's a long story."

"These storms last hours. So we have plenty of time for long stories." Miller heard her shifting as she spoke, and now her voice was a little more distant, as if she had found a seat across from him. He sighed in resignation.

"My parents died when I was little," he began. "The only family I had was my grandfather. He raised me."

"I never knew my mom, either," Lydia cut in somberly.

"Really?" Miller had not known that. "Huh. Do you ever wonder what she was like?"

"All the time. But my daddy tells me stories about her. It's not the same, but he says I'm like her. He says I remind him of her when he feels sad, and it makes him feel better."

"My grandfather used to say that, too," Miller admitted.

"So what happened? Did he get sick?"

"Yeah. He got really sick. And the thing about the Ark is, people didn't really matter up there. I mean, we all mattered as a group, but individual people weren't worth very much if they weren't serving a purpose. So my grandpa and I - we had to hide the sickness for as long as we could. I tried to take care of him by myself, but it got harder and harder. And then I was caught. And -" Miller's voice gave out and he shook his head, angry at himself for the temporary weakness.

"Miller, it's okay. I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry I brought it up," Lydia's voice carried all the hurt Miller's couldn't. He heard her tears and the sniffle and suddenly he understood that she was the stronger one. And then in the darkness, little fingers reached across the distance and touched his wrist, wrapped around his hand, and Miller gripped that small hand tightly, endlessly thankful for the humanity of her simple gesture as he finally broke down and cried.


	21. Chapter 20

_**A/N:** I must start by thanking my beta, _Marina Black1_, for putting up with about 8 different iterations of this chapter! LOVE YOU! And if you haven't yet, please go check out her Arrow piece, Stars Fall Silent. Seriously, do it._

_**A/N2:** Did you know some of you have reviewed almost every chapter? It's true! THAT FLOORS ME. Thank you all so much! I've poured my heart into this story - and quite literally my tears, and also that one time a little tiny bit of blood (don't ask) - so it is just the BEST feeling to think there are others out there who also care! I LOVE YOU ALL SO MUCH!_

_**A/N3:** Now that I know how to make them, I'm going **video** crazy! There's a new one, definitely related to this portion of the story - link at the **thundershirts** tumblr page I share with my beta! I'd love to hear your thoughts!_

_[CONTENT WARNING: language]_

* * *

Snow began falling over the region just before dawn of their second day. Monty was taking his turn at watch, and he briefly considered waking the women so they could experience the magic of the world being transformed. Their first snowfall had been the night they escaped Mount Weather, and no one had been in the frame of mind to enjoy it. He decided to let them sleep, though. They would see it later, and right now rest was too important.

Monty sighed heavily as he watched the flakes coasting down. He missed Jasper. Jasper would love this: the way the world quieted; the flashes of color from songbirds previously hidden and now so bright against the whiteness; the snow itself, cold and clean and soft. Monty scooped up a handful and packed it together, forming a small ball which he tossed lightly in his fingers as he crossed the tiny clearing to the tent holding Raven and Clarke. He pushed the flap aside just enough to catch sight of Raven. She was so beautiful and peaceful and fragile like this. When she awoke, he would tell her. _Everything_. He would tell her about the torture - and worse, his weakness. About how quickly he had caved, especially when those monsters began electrocuting him. He shuddered to consider what she would think of him when she realized he had betrayed them all, had told his torturers about the Ark and the drop-ship and given names and descriptions, and all of it was just out of a selfish need to make his own pain stop, however briefly.

Raven stirred and moaned. Her eyes fluttered open and she smiled to see Monty. He smiled back sadly, the kind of smile that never reached the eyes.

"Good morning," he began in a soft voice. "So, guess what? It's snowing."

"Really?" Raven scrambled outside, eager to see. She found herself dropped into the middle of one of the videos from their classes on the Ark, that one about Earth's seasons. She held out her arms and giggled as tiny crystals landed on her clothes and skin.

"It's like... magic," she confessed as she turned back to Monty.

"I know." He seemed distracted. "Raven… I need to talk to you."

* * *

"Jasper, calm down!" Harper could not help a quick smile, even as she gripped his shoulders to steady him. "Yes, the snow will cover their footprints, but first of all, have they veered from this route for the past few hours?"

"No," Jasper tried to blink away his initial panic, and focus on Harper's words. Bellamy had been pushing them so hard, allowing only a brief rest. He was determined to reach Clarke today, especially after yesterday's delay from the acid fog.

"And secondly, tracking isn't _just_ about footprints, Jasper. There's also -"

"Cutting sign," Bellamy interjected softly, recalling the way Finn always looked for other clues like broken twigs and fibers from snagged clothing. Harper nodded.

"Yes, that's right. So we just keep going. Nothing's changed, except the weather. Okay?" She stretched up to kiss Jasper on the cheek, then returned to her work. She tried not to see the pain on Bellamy's features at the quick moment of intimacy. Harper _would_ find Clarke for Bellamy. He was a broken man without her.

The snow actually did make it a bit harder, but Harper kept this information to herself. Just as she had not mentioned that someone was with Monty and Clarke. Or that Bellamy's relentlessness had worked, and they were finally catching up.

* * *

Michael and Anya seemed to be taking longer than usual to depart this morning. Ordinarily Miller would have been in their faces, demanding a reason for this kind of delay. Today, he just worked silently at the menial tasks around their small camp, putting out the fire and gathering items back into packs. Finn was impressed by his restraint, especially since this was their last day of travel, and they hoped to make it to the ocean before dark.

After their scare with the acid fog, Michael and Anya were determined to keep Lydia closer than ever. Lydia seemed less certain of the need for extra caution, although she stayed by her father's side obediently. She was quieter than normal, her eyes landing frequently on Miller.

Finn watched her, curious now about what it must have been like trapped in such a small space with Miller for that long. He personally would have gone mad. Miller was not a bad person, but everything about him was an echo of Bellamy and that barbaric tendency to fight first, ask questions later. Lydia seemed to have a very different reaction than Finn, though, if those sympathetic stares were any indication. Finn shook his head and turned back to his own bag.

Anya walked over to Miller. Her eyes were still red from the tears she had wept, first over the loss of Lydia, then over her recovery. Miller tried not to let the emotion on the Grounder's face soften his feelings toward her. It was hard; his time trapped under the tree with Lydia yesterday had left him raw, and he was having difficulty piecing himself back together.

"You saved Lydia." Anya's declaration caught him off guard.

"I wasn't just going to let her die," he answered honestly.

"You could have. You chose not to. That was… unexpected."

Miller looked down at the ground and wondered how the hell he was supposed to respond to something like that, coming from someone like her.

* * *

Jasper broke past Harper at the clearing's edge, calling Monty's name eagerly as he ran forward. The snow-covered field glittered blindingly but Jasper barely noticed. He grabbed his best friend by the arm and pulled him into an exuberant hug. For his part, Monty tried to focus on the surprise and happiness of this moment, and shake off the turmoil and pain of his recent conversation with Raven.

"What are you doing here?" Monty finally managed.

"Oh, well. You know. _Someone_ had to come along to protect the big guy," Jasper answered with a grin as Bellamy jogged past them, a single-minded look on his face. Harper, the only one not feeling a need to rush now that she had fulfilled her duty, approached and greeted Monty warmly, and the three friends very studiously looked away from the tent housing Clarke.

* * *

Bellamy felt his heart thudding with each step, felt the burning anticipation as a bright sun within him. He pushed through the tent door, and Clarke filled his world so completely he forgot to breathe.

She was bent forward, rolling up her blanket. Her hair fell loosely around her face and Bellamy's thoughts, his body, his soul… settled. He came back to an equilibrium he had lost the moment Clarke told him she was leaving him. He ached to touch her, but hated to disturb her. In this stolen moment, she was as pure and perfect as the snow outside.

There was a brief period of limbo in which Clarke became aware of his presence but the import of it had not yet fully registered. She half-smiled and at that Bellamy broke down. He reached out, tenderly tracing the soft line of her jaw. Clarke's hand found his cheek and she dragged him close, her mouth calling for him hungrily. He gathered her into his arms as she kissed him, painfully aware now of just how wrong he had been to ever let her go. Clarke's hands raked through Bellamy's hair and she smiled at the strength of his arms, the heat of his lips.

And then reality came crashing down on them.

"Bellamy, wait! What the hell?" She pushed against his shoulder, staring at him in sudden confusion and anger. He tried to deflect it with a charming smile.

"Come on, Princess, you didn't really think you could get rid of me that easily, did you?" Bellamy teased. She frowned.

"I wasn't getting rid of you, I was _trusting_ you!" His face fell at her harsh tone, and Clarke found herself wavering. Just a little.

"They need you," she tried instead.

"And I need _you_, Clarke." His eyes burned into hers, silencing her temporarily. His voice was pained and pleading. "I couldn't do it. Please don't ask me to leave you, ever again. I -" he cut himself off. Some things were easier to say than others. Instead he pulled her close, burying his head against her shoulder, breathing her in. When had she become his strength? He could not remember.

"So new plan. We do this, we go get your mother, and we go home," he offered.

"Bellamy," Clarke sighed. She wanted to stay angry but she also knew that her universe stabilized the minute he touched her. She curled into his body and tangled her fingers in the collar of his shirt, not wanting to let go again. That was the deal; and it had been her demand, after all.

"I cannot believe you just left everyone," she whispered into his chest, not willing to give up the fight quite so easily.

"Miller and Finn will get there soon. Luna and Octavia can keep everyone in line until then."

"Octavia?" Clarke smiled despite herself. It was the closest he had ever come to admitting Octavia was no longer quite the defenseless little girl he remembered from life on the Ark.

* * *

Raven had held herself together until Monty finished talking about Mount Weather. Then she had run away. Clarke's system of keeping people at bay, and finding personal space to cope with her pain, suddenly seemed like a brilliant plan. Raven needed that kind of space to process everything Monty had just shared. She ran until breathing hurt and her side cramped, and walked after that, until even walking was too much. She sank down onto the snowy ground and shed hot tears for Monty, and for herself. He had no idea the terrible things she had done to Lincoln, obviously; otherwise, he would not be with her. She was as much a monster as his captors. He had begged forgiveness for weakness, for trying to make his pain stop; and Raven had run as far as possible from her guilt. She cried, hoping that might relieve some of the burden but even after the tears ebbed the pain remained. How could she ever face him again?

"Raven?"

She must have been gone longer than she realized, if Monty had come looking for her. He stopped a few feet behind her.

"I don't… I'm not trying to be a jackass or anything, but I really need to know if you can forgive me."

Raven refused to look back, trusting herself only to nod.

"There's nothing to forgive, Monty. You survived, okay? You shouldn't have had any of it happen to you. It's all… I did it -" She dissolved into fresh tears.

"Hey. I told you, stop talking like that," Monty said. He frowned. "Raven, listen... If you're just in this out of some sense of guilt, will you tell me? Because I… You're amazing, but I don't want pity… And if that's all this is, I'd like to know. Before I fall any harder for you than I already have."

Raven froze, still unable to face him. It seemed impossible, but he had found the one way to make her feel worse.

"You've got it backwards," she started. "I didn't expect to find anyone as great as you, Monty. And I just… it hurts to know I've messed it up before it began, that this won't work… because of all the mistakes I've made." The snow muffled his steps but she felt him draw closer, and when his fingers found her chin, Raven let him turn her face toward his before continuing.

"I did it. To Lincoln. I helped Clarke and Bellamy torture him." She closed her eyes against the memory, and against Monty's sudden, sharp intake of breath. "It seemed right at the time, Monty. Finn had been stabbed. We had to save him. But I didn't know it would cost me… so much…" She let the tears flow freely over her cheeks as Monty sat back on his haunches, trying to understand what she was telling him.

"Who made you do it?" he whispered. "Was it… Bellamy?"

"Oh god, no! Nobody! Just Finn. He was dying, and he may be a cheating jackass, but he's also family." She sniffled and wiped her nose on her sleeve. Monty looked at her thoughtfully.

"If it had been Jasper who was stabbed…" Monty stopped and tried to consider what he would have done. Really done, back when everything seemed new and dangerous and surreal. Not what he would do now, now that reality had taken a firmer grasp of everyone, and they had all aged a decade in the space of a month.

* * *

Sinclair was staring across the small campfire at Big Ray with a mixture of fascination and fear when Wick approached.

"Hey Sinclair, that girl Clarke is on the radio," the apprentice announced. Sinclair turned a warning stare on him.

"… Sir," Wick added with a languid grin and a mock salute. Sinclair had no energy to fight back against the insolence; he just nodded and followed. Any excuse to get away from the giant scruffy nomad, even for just a few minutes.

"Pretty Clarke is tougher than fuckin' nails, you know," Big Ray announced when Sinclair returned to his place by the fire.

"Yes, thank you Big Ray," Sinclair gritted out. He hated everything about that man. He hated the sheer size, the furs, the lack of decorum, the rough-and-tumble way he went about everything. Sinclair found himself wishing for Chancellor Jaha or Councilor Kane or Dr. Griffin to materialize and take over leadership of this entire operation. Instead, it was up to Sinclair. And he knew without doubt that he was no leader. He could barely keep Wick in check.

"When will she fuckin' get here?" Big Ray continued, oblivious to the effect he was having on the space man.

"I'm sorry," Sinclair replied, distracted, "I just…. I really need to know: do you _have_ to talk like that?"

"Like what?" Big Ray tilted his head and stared at Sinclair blankly.

"Just… never mind. Clarke and her people will be here soon actually. They're not that far from us."

"Wait, the whole damn lot of them are coming? That's fuckin' great! Finally it's a fuckin' party!" Big Ray stood quickly, and Sinclair flinched at the size of him. He flinched again when Big Ray bellowed out his announcement. "Hey Regular Jack! Little Ray! Fuckin' Pretty Clarke's bringin' the damn party back!"

"No, that's not what I…" But Big Ray was gone, punching and swearing and laughing with his men. Sinclair closed his eyes in search of some extra fortitude.

"Well I for one think they're _fuckin'_ hilarious," Wick teased. Sinclair's disdain was obviously not as well-hidden as he had thought.

"Don't you start, too," the engineer cautioned his apprentice.

* * *

"Pretty Clarke! Scary Shadow!"

At the boom of Big Ray's happy voice, Clarke broke into a grin; Bellamy had a slightly different reaction.

"Dammit," he muttered to Monty as the No-Man's Clan leader approached and gave them each a hearty slap on the back.

"Well met, Scary Shadow! I'm fuckin' glad to see you and Pretty Clarke are still together! It'd be a damn shame if I had to fuckin' kill you!" Big Ray laughed. Monty's eyes rounded at the cryptic threat, and he shot Bellamy a worried look.

"Big Ray. Still alive I see," Bellamy answered noncommittally.

"Fuck yeah, nothin' can kill me! I'm too much of an asshole to die!" And with that Big Ray turned back to the campfire, where Sinclair and the others were waiting to greet the young travelers.

"I can't disagree with him; he really is an asshole," Monty murmured. Bellamy allowed a quick laugh, then sobered as he spied the Ark survivors.

"Ready for this?" he asked Monty and Jasper in a low voice.

"Yeah, why wouldn't we be?" Jasper's face displayed his confusion.

"Because pardon or not, we're about to find out what the Ark _really_ thinks of a bunch of teenage criminals who've been living in the woods for the past couple months." _And the janitor turned failed assassin who leads them_, he added silently to himself.

"Bellamy!" Clarke motioned to him from up ahead, and Bellamy shot the boys a quick warning look before joining her.

"This is Sinclair; he's the engineer who boosted the signal on Big Ray's radio," Clarke began. "Sinclair, this is Bellamy Blake." She tried to think of a sentence to summarize Bellamy, some way to convey how important he had become to all of them. To her.

"He's the one who's kept us alive," she finished, knowing how insufficient it was.

"Bellamy Blake?" Sinclair's face changed as the name finally registered. "Oh, yes! You're that janitor from Factory station, the one who tried to kill the Chancellor!"

Clarke heard all the words, but her fear focused on the crime: _tried to kill the Chancellor._

"Chancellor Jaha pardoned him," she reminded Sinclair protectively.

Bellamy heard the same words, but his resentment focused on the title: _that Janitor from Factory station._

"Clarke, it's okay." His hand found hers and he squeezed lightly. "Sinclair obviously thinks he's still on the Ark, that's all." He stared the engineer down, daring him to continue.

"With all due respect, this is clearly nothing like the Ark, young man," Sinclair retorted, gesturing behind him at the small camp he and a half-dozen others had hastily thrown together. Clarke looked around critically, but Bellamy stayed focused on Sinclair. The engineer seemed tense.

"Are there any medical staff with you?" Clarke asked as a woman hobbled by on a poorly-bandaged foot.

"Dr. Griffin _was _our medical staff," Sinclair admitted. "She and Councilor Kane were leading us to Mount Weather when we were attacked. Half of us managed to slip away. After that we ran into the… No-Man's Clan," at his obvious discomfort with the nomads, Bellamy finally managed a sympathetic smile, "And that's when we contacted you."

"Do the Mountain Men know how many of you escaped?" Bellamy interrupted. Sinclair looked at him briefly, but directed his answer at Clarke. Bellamy bristled at the slight.

"I'm fairly certain they didn't even see us."

"That's probably true, Bellamy," Clarke said, turning to her partner. "The Mountain Men would have followed if they thought there were others."

"Yeah, I remember," he growled back, reaching up to run his thumb lightly over the place just below her shoulder where he knew a scar was forming. His face hardened; even through her sweater, he could picture the livid mark that served as a constant reminder of his greatest failure.

It would not happen this time, he vowed, turning his energy back to their current mission.

"Clarke, we need to get moving. This is taking too much time, and Abby doesn't have much of that right now." She nodded at him, fighting her body's natural reaction to Bellamy's caress. A part of her wanted to give in, to find comfort from her fears in his safe arms. But he was right. There was no time for that kind of weakness.

"How far are we from Mount Weather?" Bellamy asked Sinclair. Again, the engineer gave his answer to Clarke.

"It's about 90 miles to our southwest. Which is… um… that way," Sinclair pointed hesitantly. Bellamy smirked.

"No, that's North."

Sinclair turned on him.

He had just been through the worst few weeks of his life. He had lost his Chancellor, crashed a space station, slept outside in the cold and wet and dirt of Earth, eaten strange plants that turned his stomach inside out, and Kane and Abby had been kidnapped. His apprentice was a disrespectful jackass with a smart mouth, he had been forced to put up with disgusting radiation-soaked nomads for the past three days, and now this insolent janitor who for all he knew was some raging psychopath had the nerve to give him shit? The normally-serene Sinclair cracked.

"You are not part of this conversation, Blake! If we need cleaning advice we'll come to you, but otherwise back off!"

Clarke's mouth dropped open in shock; Bellamy crossed his arms with a bitter smile and a cynical nod. This was exactly how he had expected the Ark reunion to go. He turned to Clarke, intending to shoot her an "I knew it" look. His eyes betrayed him though, and Clarke's heart broke at the pain she saw there. They had not really talked a lot about their lives on the Ark, for this very reason. She belonged to the world of Councilors and engineers and doctors. Bellamy did not.

"No! Bellamy, you're staying." Clarke barked. She turned on Sinclair. "We've survived down here for so long _because_ of this man! We need him if we have any chance of getting in and out of Mount Weather." Her blood heated at the thought of anyone making Bellamy Blake feel inferior. Her voice turned low, determined.

"I have to save my mother. And he's the one that can do it. So if you want to join us, fine. But don't think for a _second_ that this is your rescue operation, because it's not. This is not the Ark, and you are not in charge down here."

Sinclair stared at her.

"Come on, Clarke, we need to plan," Bellamy finally cut in, grabbing her hand. As they walked away from Sinclair, Clarke tried to apologize.

"Bellamy, I'm sorry. I didn't expect -"

"It's okay, Princess. I did. I told you this would happen, didn't I? The privileged take care of their own."

She caught it, and it stung. The way he said "Princess". He had not said it in that warm, longing voice that melted her. He had said it mockingly, the way he used to back when it stood for all the invisible divisions between them.


	22. Chapter 21

_**A/N:** Sorry this took so long to post. I've had quite a crap weekend! Glad it's mostly over. Anyway... Mad props as always to my internet wifey, _Marina Black1_, for her awesome beta work and her lovely Arrow piece, Stars Fall Silent. It's getting pretty crazy in Starling City these days!_

_**A/N2:** I made a new video. :) It's straight-up Bellarke, and definitely related to this chapter and the last. Many of you have seen it on the thundershirts Tumblr page; and if you have, thank you for watching! I have another one in the works, which I'll be uploading in the next few days, as well._

_**A/N3:** I love reading your reviews almost more than I love writing my story! Please keep them coming, they are always SO wonderful!_

_[CONTENT WARNING: Language. And sex.]_

* * *

"Shit, girl, you look fuckin' pissed," Big Ray noted, appearing at Clarke's side after lunch. He folded his massive arms over his chest, unconsciously mimicking her stance. The nomad leader followed her gaze and realized she was staring pointedly at Bellamy, now in serious conversation with Monty and Jasper. Big Ray stiffened.

"If that jackass fuckin' hurt you…" His voice was menacing in a way Clarke had not heard before. She shook her head.

"He's not a jackass. And he didn't really hurt me," she admitted with a sigh. "It's complicated, Big Ray."

"Well fuck, life's always complicated, Pretty Clarke. What happened?"

Clarke frowned slightly, her brows knitting together as she considered how to explain the world of the Ark to a nomadic Grounder... How to explain that their society - which in the idealism of her youth had seemed to work pretty well - damaged someone as smart and charismatic, and with as much potential for good, as Bellamy Blake. She had never before articulated to herself the perilous balance that seemed to drive him constantly forward, the tragic mix of personal loss and ambition, frailty and strength, guilt and glory stitching together his very being.

She felt her pulse quicken at the discovery of just how deeply she had let him soak into her soul.

"... When the war happened, everyone on the space stations thought the Earth was left uninhabited, and they were the only ones who survived. Our ancestors tried to design a system that would guarantee the continuation of humanity, until it was safe to come back." She paused and swallowed hard, feeling somehow complicit purely by virtue of her privileged birth.

"They were so focused on keeping the human race alive, they forgot about the lives of the actual humans. Their system failed a lot of people. All of us down here are the result of that failure, but for Bellamy… I think maybe Bellamy cares too much to let it go. He feels the failure more deeply than the others," Clarke whispered.

Big Ray thought about that for a long quiet moment. Together, he and Clarke watched Bellamy call an order to Raven before turning to Harper.

"So, how the hell are you going to fix this?"

"What?"

"Well, you fix people, so you're going to fuckin' fix this too. Especially 'cause you love him."

"I don't -" Clarke tried, taken aback.

"You fuckin' do. And you sure as shit know he loves you," Big Ray grinned. "So…?"

Clarke gave in.

"…What if I can't fix it?" she choked out. His grin turned into a warm chuckle.

"You're the smartest fuckin' person I ever met, Pretty Clarke. You'll fix it," he assured her.

* * *

Bellamy watched Clarke and Big Ray surreptitiously as he spoke with Jasper and Monty about Mount Weather. The taller teen looked apprehensive, his best friend determined - but neither of them questioned Bellamy's plan. Their compliance was frustrating. He needed the devil's advocate, needed a challenging voice and constant questions pushing at him, to make sure he had thought of everything. He needed Clarke.

But in his anger he had struck out blindly, and she had borne the brunt of it. The resulting tension was anguish for Bellamy, particularly since the only person who could possibly console him was the very one he had hurt.

"Bellamy?" Jasper tapped him lightly on the shoulder, drawing him back to the moment. Jasper's Adam's apple bobbed quickly as he swallowed his nerves. "Hey, we need Clarke for this next part." Bellamy closed his eyes briefly, nodding.

"I'll go get her," he sighed. The other two shared a quick look as he trudged away. The altercation with Sinclair had hardly been secret; only the No-Man's Clan seemed oblivious. The Ark survivors had certainly heard every word, as had Bellamy and Clarke's team. Now the boys conferred silently, wondering how to ease the strain in this powder-keg of a camp.

Sinclair wandered up as they were in the midst of a particularly heated eyebrow-raising exchange over who should try to mediate between Clarke and Bellamy. The engineer smiled genially at Monty. Jasper stared suspiciously at Sinclair, wondering why he had sought them out.

"You're Monty Green, aren't you?" Sinclair began. "I remember you. I signed off on the recruitment paperwork for your engineering apprenticeship."

"Okay..." Monty threw Jasper a blank glance. Sinclair smiled at both young men, and held out his hand. They shook it politely.

"You know, Green, we could really use your skills once this whole debacle with the Mount Weather people has been resolved. We're going to need to rebuild an entire society, and that's the kind of world where someone like you could make a big difference." Sinclair's voice was friendly, genuine. He was a man on the edge, trying to salvage the tatters of the only world he had ever known. Monty actually felt bad for him. There was something desperate in those exhausted eyes. Too bad he had picked the wrong fight so quickly. Jasper folded his arms; Monty did the same, smiling grimly.

"_If_ we make it out of Mount Weather alive, we'll be leaving here - with Bellamy - as soon as it's clear. But thanks for the vote of confidence," Monty announced. Harper, having arrived late to the conversation, stepped up next to Jasper loyally and narrowed her eyes at Sinclair. The stand-off was broken by the arrival of Raven.

"Hey, Sinclair, Bellamy told me to give this to you," Raven called out, and Sinclair turned. "So we can contact you after we've rescued Abby and the others." She tossed him a hand-held radio, and only then did she notice the tension.

"What'd I miss?"

* * *

Bellamy approached Clarke and Big Ray, still conversing at the edge of the woods.

"Scary Shadow's coming," the No-Man's Clan leader announced with a grin, "So I'll just fuck off. Be good to him, Pretty Clarke." For someone so large, he moved surprisingly quickly, leaving the couple alone before Clarke had a chance to respond.

"Jasper and Monty need you," Bellamy announced matter-of-factly, stopping a few feet away from her. To anyone watching, it looked cold; Clarke saw the uncertainty in the move, though. Bellamy was unsure of her right now, and that bothered her more than anything. After all that had happened, he should never have to question her loyalty.

She moved to him, stopping only when she was near enough to feel the warmth he radiated, and looked up into those dark eyes. Clarke was relieved to see the heat and passion that had trapped her, had wrapped her so completely into this man's world, still burning as brightly as ever. She pressed one hand against his chest, enjoying the strong steady heartbeat beneath her palm.

"Your people are assholes," he declared. His face was a contradiction: an eyebrow lifted scornfully, eyes hot and hungry, mouth angry. Clarke licked her lips and stepped a fraction of an inch closer. Her hand, still covering his heart, was now the only thing separating them.

"They are _not_ my people, Bellamy. Not anymore. But the truth is, we could use the Ark's help getting in and out of Mount Weather. So for that reason alone, I'm willing to play nice. Are you?"

"You want _me_ to -" Bellamy stopped himself with an outraged huff. He stepped back and grabbed Clarke's raised hand, dragging her with him as he walked quickly away from the very public arena of the camp, into the darkness of the evergreen forest. He did not stop until they were well out of earshot and then he rounded on her.

"Sinclair is a pretentious ass."

"No; he's just scared." She vaguely remembered Sinclair as he had been on the Ark: helpful, and extremely loyal to Jaha. Not a bad man, just set in his ways.

"Scared is worse, Clarke! There's no room down here for the kind of mistakes that come out of fear. You and I know that better than anyone!"

"I know! Bellamy, I know." She grabbed his face, staring at him as she spoke. "Sinclair's just a lost man. He's no leader. But you _are!_ You've led our people into battle, through the world's worst gauntlet, and out the other side to safety." Her blue eyes bore into him, and her voice grew rough.

"It's _you._ You're the leader I never even knew we would need, Bellamy." His eyes widened at her declaration. Clarke continued.

"And I'm not excusing Sinclair's behavior, I'm saying I need you to be the better man. For me. Be the better man I know you are," she pleaded.

Bellamy stilled.

"Princess…" and this time the universe had righted itself, and it was a love song, the way he caressed the air with that word as he bent to close the distance between their lips.

… Why did every kiss from him still feel like the first kiss? _Every… damn… time._ Every time, there was the flutter of anticipation, the little flame inside her leaping up excitedly, pushing toward the burn in him that seemed to grow each day. She tried to remember to breathe as his body melted against hers. Tried to remember something, anything beyond the happiness of this moment.

Snow began to fall again, large gentle flakes coasting lazily down between the branches of the nearby pines, but neither of them noticed, wrapped so fully as they were in the warmth of each other.

* * *

The good-byes were perfunctory. It seemed pointless to pretend, since there was no love lost between Bellamy and Sinclair, and the rest of Bellamy and Clarke's people had made it clear whose side they were on. Big Ray insisted on joining the rescue team, leaving Little Ray in charge of the remaining No-Man's Clan members. The temporary leader tried throwing a friendly smile Sinclair's way, only to be rebuffed by the space man's mortified expression.

Sinclair decided to send two Ark survivors to round out the expedition, as well. Based on Bellamy and Clarke's plan, he opted for an engineer and a sharpshooter. Two volunteers were selected: a tall and very serious silver-haired guard named Sofie, and Wick - who grinned rakishly at Raven and said he recognized her from one of their classes together back on the Ark.

Monty tried not to hate him.

The team moved quickly, Clarke and Harper setting the pace. Bellamy found his pulse quickening at the prospect of taking a smaller, more experienced and more disciplined team on this journey; the sheer size of the group last time had been such a hindrance. By nightfall, the nine travelers were already ahead of schedule. They found a sheltered glade to stay for the night, and the teenagers set up camp with practiced movements while Sofie and Wick watched in quiet admiration.

"So... That was tense back there, with you and Sinclair, huh?" Wick began with a smile as he and Bellamy took a turn at watch later that night. "I can't say I blame you. He was not on his best behavior, and that's probably my fault. I've been trying to train it out of him, but he's just a really slow learner." Bellamy grinned, grateful for the other man's unspoken offer of friendship. They sank into companionable silence, each considering the potential dangers of what they were setting out to do.

* * *

The sun was setting to their right, the waves breaking to their left, when Finn and Miller caught sight of someone running along the beach toward them.

"Is that Octavia?" Miller asked uncertainly. She looked… different. Wilder. Her normally fine straight hair danced in the breeze coming off the ocean, and her gait was even freer than it had been in the forest. Coastal life seemed to agree with her. She waved and laughed, although the sound was ripped away, carried inland by the wind. Monroe and Lara slipped past the men and ran to Octavia's side, and Lydia could be heard begging her father for permission to join them. He smiled and nodded, and she took off without a backward glance. Miller felt something tug at his chest, and tried to pretend it was not fear for her. Lydia would be fine. It was just Octavia, she wasn't dangerous . And besides, it was none of his business what happened to the little girl. He had to take care of his own people first.

The rest of the travelers swarmed Octavia happily; as soon as it was polite, Miller asked about Bellamy. Octavia gave him a sympathetic smile and explained about the trip back to Mount Weather, at which Finn stepped forward.

"Wait, Clarke's going _back?_ And Raven?" He felt torn. Knowing both women were deliberately putting themselves in danger terrified him, but a part of him - the part that was more selfish than the rest, the space walking part – sighed with relief at the prospect of a few more days' respite from a potential confrontation.

Lara asked about Sterling, and Octavia pointed her in the direction of the main settlement. Most of the others followed, eager to reunite with their friends. Octavia was left standing beside Anya and Michael. She watched them warily; despite Clarke's assurances, Octavia was not quite ready to trust Anya yet. Michael was silent, smiling kindly at his daughter. Lydia had latched herself to Octavia's hand and seemed determined to stay there forever. Her eyes as she stared up at Bellamy's sister were two bright moons of adoration.

"Finn! You made it!" Lincoln called from the top of a nearby dune, and Finn turned to greet the Grounder who had saved his life.

He froze.

Standing beside Lincoln, lit warmly by the last faint rays of the sinking sun, was the most beautiful woman Finn had ever seen. Her brown skin and long black hair were offset perfectly by a broad, kind smile and gentle eyes the color of gold. Finn stared in wonder as she floated down the dune toward him. The petite woman shook hands with each of the remaining members of their party, arriving at Finn last. His heart thundered when she turned her wide bright eyes up to his, resting her fingers on his forearm briefly.

"Lincoln has told me so much about you, Finn Collins," she began, "that I feel as though we are already friends." She laughed, and the sound poured through him, and suddenly Finn found breathing required more effort than usual.

Lincoln rescued him.

"Irene is the daughter of Luna, the leader of the Ocean Clan," he explained. "Her mother has tasked her with caring for the visitors." Finn nodded, thankful for the reminder of their situation. He turned back to those who had not yet left for Luna's, and caught Michael watching him thoughtfully. For some reason he could not fully explain, Finn found the older man's quiet gaze intrusive; he looked away, and found his attention settling back on Irene.

"Are you tired?" she asked him, her smile unwavering. Finn grinned back.

"You know, I was, but for some reason I'm feeling a lot better," he murmured. Irene's face as she beamed up at him set Finn's heart racing, and he took her hand without thinking as the two made their way up the beach with the others.

* * *

Two and a half days of hard travel had brought Bellamy and Clarke close enough to Mount Weather to make the couple strangely homesick. They were now following the river that served as the mountain boundary, and as they moved south they became increasingly tense. Bellamy lashed out at Harper when she spooked a deer they were hunting, and Clarke snapped at Sofie for twisting her ankle as she descended a steep embankment trying to reach some nasturtium Monty had spotted. Raven and Big Ray finally pulled them aside and gave them hell, after which the mood lightened. Slightly.

"Will it work?" Clarke finally found the courage to ask as she and Bellamy settled against a tree on the third evening, taking their turn to guard the camp. Bellamy was silent for a long time, and Clarke watched as the lean muscle beneath his cheek tightened.

"I'll get us in, Clarke. The rest of it is up to everyone else. They know what they have to do. And your maps will get us all out again."

"What if I remembered wrong?…" The words stuck in her throat at the horror of the thought. Bellamy grabbed her knee and ran his thumb over it comfortingly.

"Clarke, stop. I've seen your work; you're good. You're better than good, and you know that. There are a lot of ways this could all go wrong. You are not one of those ways."

She smiled gratefully.

"It _could_ all go wrong, you know," she pointed out, playing absentmindedly with the hem of her sweater.

"Yes," he conceded.

"You aren't allowed to die, Bellamy." It was an order.

"Neither are you." It was a plea.

"No. Bellamy, you still don't get it. I _can't_ lose you! I love -" she tried to stop herself but she was too late; the word tumbled out and Bellamy inhaled sharply at even the ghost of it, coming from her. The air around them changed subtly, became crisper, charged with an electric crackle of anticipation.

It was supposed to be him who said it first. Somehow they both knew that. Bellamy would say it, and Clarke would be initially uncertain, skittish in the face of the declaration. That was obviously how this was supposed to happen. She had surprised them both, and neither was sure what might come next.

"Clarke." His voice was low, deep, rough. He grabbed her, dragging her onto his lap and searching her sky-blue eyes frantically for confirmation.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, alarmed by his reaction to her accidental confession.

"Don't be," he implored her. Bellamy crushed Clarke against his chest, catching up her lips with his own, and she whimpered in pleasure at the brutal desire of his kiss. The great hot beast inside him, already soaring victoriously heavenward on broad unfettered wings of searing joy, was driven instantly mad by that little sound. Its unwavering need to possess her terrified Bellamy and he pulled back just slightly from Clarke, trying to maintain control.

"Bellamy," she whispered, leaning her forehead against his as he struggled with his internal battle. Her lips were close enough to brush across his as she spoke, and he closed his eyes at the intoxicating feather-light touch.

"Bellamy. I trust you," Clarke promised softly. She was absolutely certain she had nothing to fear from him, that no part of him could ever be as dangerous to her as he seemed to think. It was the safest place in her world, the endless passion inside Bellamy.

He felt the truth of her love reaching past his barriers, felt the hunger of that smoldering part of him that had pushed through hell and back out the other side for a chance to hold her, and he moaned her name as he finally gave in. The fire raced through Bellamy, overwhelming him, aching to devour her. His rough hands tore at their layers of clothing without concern for the frigid night air, and the pair sank back against the roots of the tree, focused only on the uncontrollable need for each other.

Clarke pushed Bellamy onto his back, her skin brushing over his as she bent forward to kiss him fiercely. He responded eagerly, his soul agonizingly full of the splendor of her, the strength and beauty of her. He knew he did not deserve her love, knew also that he was too selfish to let anyone else have it.

Bellamy grabbed her, wrapping his arms around her possessively and pressing her snowy-white flesh against his own warm body as he filled her. Clarke bit her lip and shuddered in delight at the feeling, and her shiver did something primal to him. He dragged his fingers down her back, seeking out her hips and shifting her just slightly, driving deeper within her; in response, a low thrilled moan escaped her lips. It flooded his brain, driving out everything but his need for her happiness. He wanted only the right to bring her unending bliss, to make her call out to him and hear her proclaim her love over and over again, so loudly none would ever doubt it.

"Clarke... I do too," Bellamy finally managed, tangling one hand into the blonde waves of her hair and pulling her close, delighting in her ecstatic smile. Moments later her rough voice filled the night with his name as the bright flame within her found the raging fire within him, and the resulting blaze consumed them both.


	23. Chapter 22

**_A/N:_**_ My darlings, I am SO sorry! I am traveling and am just now able to post this latest chapter. I feel terrible! At least my amazing beta, _Marina Black1_, is as loyal and wonderful and consistently awesome as ever. __  
_

**_A/N2:_**_ Was the last chapter terrible? I had fewer reviews than usual. I hope I am not boring you all! That would DESTROY me._

_[CONTENT WARNING: Language. And Death.]_

* * *

The Mount Weather guard shifts had been doubled after the catastrophe with the quarantine escapees a couple weeks ago. Twenty-five green-suited, gas-mask-clad figures marched through the facility's main gate at the end of the midnight watch cycle and headed into the first decontamination chamber, where they withstood a blindingly hot shower still dressed in their hundred-year-old biohazard suits. Even through the restrictive view of her gas mask Corporal Rebeka Harris noticed that her partner, Serena Fuentes, was a little jumpy tonight - almost confused, in fact. It seemed unusual only because Fuentes was about the steadiest person Harris knew. They moved into the second chamber. Here the guards stripped out of their external gear and headed for individual showers. None of them ever made that last transition. When Corporal Harris turned back to ask Fuentes why she was acting so strange tonight, she was shocked to find herself staring into a pair of large, terrified brown eyes set in the face of a pretty young woman who was definitely not one of the Mount Weather guards. Harris yelped at the discovery, but before she could ask the girl who she was and what she had done with Fuentes, someone grabbed the corporal from behind and snapped her neck efficiently.

Sofie, still half-dressed in a guard's biohazard uniform, looked down at the crumpled body of the woman she had just killed, then glanced back at Harper to make sure she would not throw up. A lot of people threw up the first time someone was killed in front of them. Sofie had, after watching Lieutenant Shumway float someone on the Ark. The first time was always the worst. Harper seemed to be keeping it together though. Sofie smiled at her. Something had made these kids tougher than they initially looked.

"Are we all clear?" Bellamy called softly from across the room. He was standing over the bodies of two guards. Clarke was right next to him with a frighteningly detached look on her face, a bloody knife in her hand and another two bodies at her feet. Sofie was impressed yet again. She had assumed the doctor's daughter would be a liability, not an asset. A quick count showed that of the twenty-five people who had entered the locker room minutes before, fifteen were now dead. Chalk that up to the element of surprise. Bellamy's Trojan Horse plan had worked, after all.

"Just hang… fuck… one second… dammit, die, you tall bastard!" Big Ray grunted from around the corner. There was a choking sound and a thud, and the nomad leader appeared a moment later with a pair of rifles in each hand.

"That last asshole put up a fuckin' good fight. But hey, I found the damn weapons storage!" he announced happily. "I don't know shit about guns so I'm sticking to my fuckin' knives. Anyone want these? And there's a fuckload of bullets in there, too." He handed the rifles out to Monty, Harper, Jasper, and Raven.

Sofie gathered extra magazines from the weapons cache and Wick grabbed two rifles, slinging one over his back and shouldering the other speculatively. Bellamy stopped in the act of stripping off the green suit that had gotten them past the main gate, watching Wick carefully.

"Do you have _any_ experience with a gun?" he asked.

"No, but something tells me I'm about to get a lot, and fast," Wick pointed out. Bellamy shook his head and turned to the small team of determined friends gathering around him.

"Okay, we're in; that was the easy part. Time to split up. Remember, we only have one radio per group, and they'll be useless after Monty and Raven set off their EMP." He turned slightly, eyebrows raised at the couple. "This has to be timed just right - in and out fast. Don't stick around any longer than you have to." They nodded silently. The pair moved toward the exit with Sofie and Harper as their tactical support, but just before swiping the stolen keycard that would open the door Monty turned back with an annoyed look on his face.

"Damn, I almost forgot!" He reached into a pocket and grabbed a handful of small packages, which he distributed to everyone. Clarke opened hers and found it contained a collection of dried leaves.

"Water hemlock. It's highly toxic. Death takes a couple hours at most." Monty looked up, and caught Bellamy's surprised expression. "It's for... for if you get caught," Monty added.

"Thank you," Clarke whispered, her eyes bright with moisture. "It's a good idea, Monty. Thank you."

Big Ray cleared his throat, breaking the dark mood, and in two groups everyone slipped out of the guards' locker room.

After giving Monty, Raven, Sofie, and Harper a chance to get clear, Clarke and Bellamy crept down the hall. Big Ray, Wick, and Jasper followed to provide additional coverage if necessary, but Clarke's memory proved accurate: the halls were surprisingly empty at this time of night. She took it as further proof of the Mount Weather leaders' arrogance in assuming - even now - that nobody could break through their defenses.

"This way," Clarke whispered, motioning them through a nearby door and into a staircase Jasper found oddly familiar.

"Hang on, I remember this!" he said without thinking, earning a reproving stare from Bellamy for the outburst.

"Shit, sorry Bellamy," Jasper apologized with a cringe. Wick tried not to smile at the teen's slip-up, but one corner of his mouth lifted anyway. Big Ray saw it and elbowed him good-naturedly, sending Wick crashing against the side of the stairwell from the force of the nudge. Bellamy whipped around again, his face dark with anger.

"Big Ray! You know I'm already looking for an excuse to shoot you. Don't give it to me now. This is for Clarke," Bellamy's voice was low and tight. Big Ray grinned and bowed.

"Always for Clarke," he whispered back.

Throughout the entire exchange between the men, Clarke kept her attention focused on getting down to the third level. She wanted to run. She wanted to slam through the heavy doors separating her from her mother, alarms and guards and terrifying pale sun-deprived Senators be damned. The only thing holding her in check was the icy hand of logic. She had to be methodical. Jake Griffin's daughter would not waste this chance by thinking so selfishly. This was about more than her family. This was about destroying the sick, twisted, blackened heart inside the mountain.

"Clarke," Bellamy's voice cut through her silent determination. She glanced at him briefly, refusing to pause in her descent. He continued softly as he kept pace with her.

"You said there are six different corridors in the quarantine unit," he pointed out. "If there's any way to eliminate even one of those as a possible location for the Ark prisoners…"

Clarke sighed at his persistence. They had already been over this twice before.

"I know, and I told you - there's not. They're all exactly the same," Clarke whispered back.

"But you said there's a video feed in each room. If I could just find out where they -" Bellamy stopped at the look of betrayal on Clarke's face. Her eyes said it all: _we stay together_. They would not lose each other down here.

"Right."

"What about if I go?" Jasper volunteered. He had started sweating at the prospect of leaving the group, but forged ahead gamely. "I can take Big Ray with me. I'm sure we'll be fine."

"Guys, Senator Cary never showed me where the video feed goes! It's pointless to argue this further," Clarke shot back, still trying to keep her voice low. They had paused at the base of the stairs, and she turned to swipe her stolen keycard, conversation over.

Wick cut in.

"Follow the wires."

Four pairs of eyes turned to stare, and he shrugged his shoulders.

"What's with the look? I'm Sinclair's apprentice, remember? Follow the video feed lines back to the source. It can't be that hard," he offered.

A beat of silence filled the stairwell. Then they all exploded, in hushed but vehement tones.

"I think I can do that," Jasper said.

"It's pointless; we're just wasting time!" Clarke's voice overlapped with his.

"What the fuck is happening?" Big Ray interjected.

"Jasper? Do it," Bellamy ordered.

Wick mouthed a silent "sorry" to Clarke. She frowned at him, but decided not to spend any more time on the issue. At this point, they were all just a stroke of bad luck away from being discovered.

"Fine! …Wait, what about the radio?"

"You keep it," Jasper said instantly. "You've gotta let Monty and Raven know when you're clear."

"You'll be operating blind," Clarke warned him. "You'll have to find the control room, get in, see where they're keeping everyone, and get back to us… And we'll have no way of knowing if you need help."

Jasper gulped and nodded. Big Ray stared at the lanky teen in genuine astonishment.

"You're the bravest fucker of all, kid," he noted.

Clarke swiped the keycard and led the four men into Mount Weather's medical facility. She cut a hard right immediately, pushing for the doors that separated them from the extensive quarantine unit, ignoring the lurch in her gut at returning to this place. She tried not to think of what it must be doing to Monty.

The stark white of the hallway drew her thoughts to Senator Cary, and she looked instinctively toward the first door on her right, remembering the bare conditions and Anya's frustrated, caged-animal pacing. Jasper seemed to be operating along similar lines, because he slowed and peered through the circular window.

"It looks _exactly_ the same." His voice had a haunted quality. Big Ray, impervious to the emotional weight of the moment, opened the door and reached up, grabbing the camera just over the door's entrance. He pulled hard, disconnecting the small orb easily.

"So now we follow the fuckin' wires?" he asked Jasper, tossing the camera into the middle of the room and looking up at the tangle of lines protruding from the hole in the ceiling. Jasper nodded and stepped forward, licking his lips as he waved a half-hearted goodbye to Bellamy and Clarke.

Wick tapped Clarke lightly on the shoulder and she turned away from the bare room. She continued down the hall, peering through each window methodically for evidence of prisoners. Six members of the Ark had been taken, and there were well over one hundred rooms in quarantine. They had to be faster. They had avoided detection so far, but they were operating on borrowed time. She had to admit, Bellamy's plan could be the difference between failure and success.

They reached the large central hall of the quarantine ward and Clarke moved to the door on her right, just as Bellamy turned left. A moment of hesitation as they stared each other down; Wick broke the tension, choosing Clarke.

"She knows her shit, dude," he pointed out as he stepped to her side.

* * *

Sofie tried not to think about how far underground they were. She had never really considered the terror of all that dirt overhead, waiting to bury her. It made her skin tingle. She swallowed hard and tried to distract herself.

"So, you've built a… what is it again?" She directed the question at Monty; but Raven, her hand clutching his supportively, was the one who answered.

"It's an EMP device." Two actually, although that was not the point. That was just Monty being careful.

"Right. And… What is that?"

"EMP stands for electromagnetic pulse," Raven explained. "It's kind of genius, really," she added with a proud grin, squeezing Monty's hand. "One major side-effect of nuclear bombs is this massive burst of energy that kills all the electronics in the area. Well, when the war happened there were so many bombs going off everywhere, that pretty much the entire planet's electrical systems were fried."

Sofie looked at the soft lights illuminating the hallway. Her face betrayed her disbelief. Monty piped up.

"Yes, exactly. Why wasn't Mount Weather affected? I didn't even think about it at first. But then Raven and I were gathering electronics from this weird underground shopping center," he explained, "And I realized those should have been fried too, but they weren't. And that's when I made the connection."

"It's because they were underground!" Raven cut in excitedly. "They were protected from the bombs. But not any more, bitches."

"This place is completely self-contained," Monty added. "The entire Mount Weather facility is totally dependent on the systems housed just beyond… that door." Monty halted, and the others followed his gaze to the nondescript door bearing an "Authorized Personnel Only" sign. "So, we get in there and we set off the EMP, and it'll kill their environmental control units, their air filters, the lights, the security cameras… everything," Monty finished.

"Including our own radios?" Sofie hazarded. Raven nodded. It actually pained her slightly to think of sacrificing the radios that had been the product of such hard work… but she knew it was the right thing to do. They could always build more.

"Okay, enough talking. Let's do this," Harper declared, her eyes narrowed in determination. She strode toward the door with her keycard in hand.

* * *

Jasper and Big Ray traced the camera cables back into the hushed medical wing, and Jasper eventually found the small closet of a room housing the video monitors. It was just a room. Just a room tucked in between the doctors' rather nondescript kitchen and a strange laboratory filled with vial after vial of blood samples. He had expected something more elaborate.

"Okay. So. Um. On the count of three, we'll break in there and take out whoever we find, right?" Jasper half-ordered, half-asked Big Ray. The broad-chested warrior slapped him genially on the back, and Jasper worried his knees would buckle under the force.

"It's okay kid, I fuckin' got this one," Big Ray assured him. He strode forward, opened the unlocked door smoothly, and leapt inside wielding a blade in each hand. Jasper blinked in confusion. When had he pulled out his knives? One minute Big Ray was a friendly teddy bear of a man; the next he was mostly grizzly bear, and Jasper had not even seen the change happen.

"Well, shit." Big Ray's surprised voice pulled Jasper into the room after him.

It was empty, but for a wall of monitors. On each screen, video footage from the rooms of the quarantine unit was cycling. The men looked at each other and grinned with relief. This was going to be cake.

They settled in to watch the flicker of room after empty room on the screens. Jasper was the first to catch it – a quick flash of a bed that looked too lumpy. Like maybe someone was actually asleep on the bed, his or her white garments blending with the rest of the room. Before he had a chance to process what he was seeing though, the video clicked over to the next room, and Jasper slammed the wall with his hand.

"No, no, no!" he moaned. "Go back, how do you make it go back?!" He searched wildly for a control panel, a joystick, anything that would help him manipulate the feed.

"Hey, who's in there? …Karl?" a voice called from just outside the door.

Big Ray did not even bother telling Jasper that they had been discovered. He stepped outside, smiling grimly at the surprised doctor who had happened to wander by.

"No fuckin' Karls around here! Just me," Big Ray said, and without waiting for a response he sliced through the man's throat. At least he guaranteed a fast, merciful death.

He turned back and saw Jasper staring at him in shock. Big Ray grunted and motioned at the monitors behind the teen, and the pair continued their search for some sign of the Ark survivors, neither mentioning what had just happened.

* * *

Bellamy, Clarke, and Wick were leaving the second corridor when Jasper and Big Ray caught up to them.

"This way!" Jasper called. He raced for a door on the other side of the large room, the others fighting to keep up with his long strides. They burst through and surprised two sleepy security guards. Wick stared in horror at the rifle in his hands, finally realizing he honestly had no idea what to do with it. Too late for target practice now: he grabbed the barrel in both hands, swung hard, and caught the closest soldier squarely in the jaw. Bellamy stepped in as the guard sank to his knees, cracking the butt of his own rifle against the man's temple efficiently. Wick looked over in time to see Big Ray using the other fallen guard's shirt to wipe blood from his knife. The giant nomad grinned at Wick.

"Fuckin' smart, not to shoot," he said. "That would have drawn too much damn attention."

Clarke, her heart beating far too fast, stepped absentmindedly over the bodies and headed down the hall, searching frantically for Abby. She freed Ark survivors from the first two rooms and moved on to the third, which was empty.

"Clarke!" Bellamy called as he opened a door across the hall. She turned to join him, but in that moment Abby Griffin stepped hesitantly past the dark-haired leader and Clarke burst into tears.

It was real. Her mother was alive.

Things got hazy for a while; Clarke could not quite figure out how she ended up in Abby's arms, and she knew they said things to each other but had no idea what they were. Something about death and Jake and love and never giving up hope, most likely.

"Princess… we have to go," Bellamy's rough voice was her clarity yet again. She nodded, wiped her cheeks, and grabbed Abby's hand as they hurried toward the exit.

"Wait, Clarke! We can't leave Marcus!" Abby turned back, just as Bellamy found him.

Kane had lost all sense of time two days ago. He knew it was supposed to be night, because the lights in the room had been dimmed. Other than that it was exactly like the rest of his day, so he had stopped trying to sleep when his anonymous captors thought he should. Instead he did as he damn well pleased. Right now that happened to be sit-ups. He did not notice the face peering at him through the round window of the door. He did, however, hear the scuffle of multiple sets of boots. He stood, gave the bottom of his shirt a little tug to straighten it - out of habit, really - and crossed to investigate the source of the commotion.

The face of a fugitive looked back at him, and Kane had never been so glad to see a wanted criminal before in his life. The door to his room was barely open before Kane was in the hallway, grabbing Bellamy by both shoulders roughly. The older man's face was taut with worry.

"Blake! Where are the others? Where's Dr. Griffin? We have to get them out!"

Bellamy stepped aside and Kane saw Abby, with her large gentle eyes and kind smile, standing beside Clarke. He lunged forward and grabbed the good doctor in a relieved hug.

"Thank god," Kane whispered. Abby chuckled and pointed to Clarke and Bellamy.

"I think we have those two to thank, actually," she corrected.

"Our time's up," Bellamy said quickly. He jogged back toward the main hall while barking into the radio he carried: "Raven? Monty? We're clear. Do it." Raven's tinny voice acknowledged the order.

"And now, Jasper, let's see what you've got up your sleeve," Bellamy whispered. He let Clarke and Abby overtake him as they raced toward the hospital wing and the staircase that would lead to freedom.

"Hey Kane, what bastard took your shoes? I called dibs!" Wick teased as they ran. Kane smiled to himself before glancing to his left.

"Good to see you again, Wick. And I already told you - they were far too nice for you," he replied. Wick laughed.

Clarke and Abby were at the door to the staircase when the EMP hit.

There was no sound, nor a great explosion. The whole subterranean world of Mount Weather simply died.

The escapees were plunged into absolute darkness – but only for a moment.

"Aaaannndddd… let there be light!" Jasper declared as he pulled several small containers of bioluminescence from his pockets. "I only had time to make a few of these, sorry. And the light will fade quickly, so Monty and Harper better get here soon," he added nervously.

As if on cue, the doors at the other end of the hospital ward burst open and Monty, Raven, Harper, and Sofie arrived.

The reunited group hit the stairs hard. Keycards were useless now; the electronic locks had been deactivated by the EMP and the whole of Mount Weather was open to them.

"How much air will they have?" Kane asked as they climbed.

"Not much," Monty admitted.

At the second floor, Clarke paused.

"Mom, there's something else I have to do. Get everyone out, okay? Raven and Monty will lead you back to Sinclair and the others."

"Wait! Clarke, what are you talking about?" Abby's brows knit together in shock.

"There's not a lot of time to explain. But just trust me, there are other people that need to be rescued, too," Clarke said. Nobody but she and Bellamy knew about the science wing, about the women kept under heavy sedation while the next generation of Mount Weather citizens grew within them. She had vowed to herself that she would free them if she ever returned to Mount Weather.

And of course, there was the part of her plan that not even Bellamy knew.

"Clarke, no, please!" Abby begged her.

"Stop! Mom, this is the right thing to do," she declared. She turned to Bellamy, who nodded.

Together they would rescue the women. And then… then, Clarke alone would fulfill a secret promise to a dead man.


	24. Chapter 23

_**A/N:** You guys. It's so wonderful to get all the love from all of you. YOUR REVIEWS KEEP ME GOING. I don't know how else to say it. REVIEWS ARE MY LIFESOURCE. I love love love you all so much! Thank you for taking the time to read and follow and comment on my little project!_

_**A/N2:** Even while packing for her trip my beta, _Marina Black1_, managed to give amazing edits for this chapter. Because she is the BEST. Thank you, darling!_

_[CONTENT WARNING: Language. Violence. Death. And some other bad stuff I don't quite know how to explain, but it will probably offend people__.]_

* * *

Abby clung stubbornly to her daughter. After everything they had been through, the weeks of torment and tumult and uncertainty, it seemed impossible that she should be expected to let go again so soon. Kane pulled her free, echoing Bellamy's earlier comment that they had no time to spare.

"She's my _daughter_, Marcus!" Abby's tears shimmered in the pale blue glow cast by Jasper's makeshift lanterns. "You couldn't _possibly_ understand!" There was a beat of heavy silence. Those watching the exchange were struck by a flicker of pain in Kane's features as he stared at the doctor.

"Wick will go too," Kane finally ordered, and the young man nodded. "But Abby… you have to come with me, now."

"Dr. Griffin." Bellamy interrupted softly.

"I'll keep her safe." In the deep sincerity of his voice Abby heard more: she heard the emotion behind the promise, heard Bellamy's own selfish need for Clarke to live. Her eyes widened in comprehension as she assessed the young couple before her. Then she pulled Bellamy into a quick hug.

"See that you do," Abby commanded him with a shaky smile, before turning to Kane and slipping her hand into his for comfort. Within seconds the landing was empty but for three – no, four – figures.

"Big Ray?" Clarke frowned in surprise at his continued presence. Her plans included just her and Bellamy, and suddenly their team had doubled in size.

"Shit yes, Pretty Clarke. You thought I'd let you have all the fuckin' fun? There's fuckin' people to rescue!" he whispered happily.

Bellamy grunted noncommittally and led them through the door.

The hallway on the other side was oddly calm. The apocalypse had finally come to Mount Weather, although it was a century late. Of course, the citizens were asleep when it started, so awareness of their predicament had not quite set in. There was no panic yet. Instead, groggy figures emerged from dark apartments, peering into the black hallway to see if neighbors also had no power, to ask what had happened, to wonder why the emergency generators had not yet kicked on.

Bellamy and Wick hid Jasper's glow-jars in their pockets and followed Clarke as she felt her way carefully down the hall to the left. Big Ray tagged along gamely behind the others. The residents were chatty and unsuspicious and all-too-easy to avoid. Clarke inched toward the science wing, housed just beyond the apartments. She was completely blind. She tried to gauge how far they had gone, but every time she thought it was far enough, she found herself at the doorway of another residence. Where were those heavy double doors bisecting the hall? She fought back panic, trying to ignore the increasingly worried tones of the Mount Weather citizens around them.

"Seven," Bellamy whispered. In the strange loneliness of the absolute darkness, his voice was warmth and strength and hope. She groped toward it and her fingers grazed his chin. Bellamy wrapped his hand over hers.

"Seven doorways," he repeated, and she finally understood. He had been counting. Clarke closed her eyes – pointless here, but habit – and pictured herself, standing in this hallway with Senator Cary. How many apartments between the stairs and the science wing? Nine? Ten?

"We're close," she realized, now that Bellamy had given her the bearings she needed.

* * *

The only remaining obstacle Raven and Monty expected to encounter was the fence surrounding Mount Weather. They knew their previous breakout had depended mostly on good luck and a whole lot of bodyweight. They could not count on either of those this time, which was why Raven, upon killing and replacing her designated perimeter guard less than an hour ago, had promptly cut a seam into the new fence using a multi-tool boosted from Sinclair. The trick had been leaving a few links uncut, so the next guard shift would not notice.

She explained all of this to Kane as they climbed the stairs. Suddenly the first-floor door opened behind her and four people appeared, carrying candles scrounged from somewhere. Engineering teams had finally been mustered to investigate the source of the power failure.

Raven and Monty and the others had no time to hide; their luck had officially run out.

"Intruders!" someone yelled back through the open door before Sofie could silence him. A confused, ugly struggle ensued between the engineers and the quarantine escapees, during which two bodies went over the railing locked in battle. After a horrid, gravity-free moment the crunch of their landing echoed back up to those who were still fighting. Sofie heard it and took a deep breath before turning back to her duty: getting Councilman Kane and Dr. Griffin out safely. She fought her way through the melee to the first-floor door, slamming an engineer into the wall so hard he left a bloody trail when he crumpled. Two Mount Weather guards entered, no doubt responding to the engineer's earlier cry; she had to stop them from calling for back up. Sofie threw her body against the door to close it, caught Harper's eye, and forced a grim smile at the sweet, brave girl just as one of the guards swung around to the silver-haired woman.

It was all going bad. Fast.

"Go, Harper - now! Get everyone out!" Sofie yelled as she fended off her attacker. "I'll hold them here as long as I can!"

"Sofie!" Harper cried, sick at the thought of what the woman was saying. She stifled a quick sob when Sofie pulled out her packet of hemlock leaves and swallowed them quickly. "No! NO!"

"Don't worry about me, kid! Just get the hell out!"

Someone hit Sofie in the gut, doubling her over. The former Ark guard would not go down so easily, though. She came back up firing her stolen rifle, and Harper turned and ran. She pushed the rest of the escapees up the stairs ahead of her, stumbling and screaming now that their cover was so obviously blown, calling out in terror for Jasper until she felt his comforting arm at her waist, felt him dragging her the last frenzied feet to the final outer door and through it into the freezing night and a sky so bright with stars and moon that Harper blinked as though emerging into daylight. No time to appreciate the beauty though, or even to think about who was missing or what they were doing to Sofie …no. Time only to run. Ahead of her, Raven was flipping open her multi-tool as easily as if it were an extension of her hand, racing for the fence with a determination Harper envied.

Jasper suddenly lurched sideways. Harper looked at him, finally really looked, and saw the blood oozing steadily from a bullet wound in his side.

And that was when Harper found the determination she had been searching for.

* * *

Mount Weather was a dying fortress, and it would not be long before it became a tomb. The engineers who finally made it down to the third floor found the EMP device and rushed it back to the Senate chambers. It was the worst possible news. Most of the Senators chose not to hear what was being said, sticking obstinately to the belief that the engineers were just being engineers: cautious, pessimistic, conservative. They were sure this was a resolvable issue, and the work teams needed only the proper motivation - perhaps something from Senator Fulton's personal collection. Several of the wiser members, however, slipped quietly from the ornate chambers. They ordered their aides to confiscate biohazard suits from the guardrooms. At _any_ cost.

The rest of Mount Weather had also finally started to come to terms with the imminent death of their beloved underground sanctuary and, like the wiser Senators, thought first of the biohazard suits that could keep them safe in the toxic world above. Everyone knew there were far fewer suits than the population would require. Things turned violent fast; after the last of the gear was looted, rumors of secret caches in the Senators' wing led a mob to storm the first floor in search of gas masks or, barring that, bloody vengeance.

Clarke and Bellamy were unaware of the chaos. They had made it to the science wing and, finally able to use their lights again, were focused on their rescue effort. Clarke moved with chilling precision, saying little, her mouth a cold thin line. Bellamy was hot anger and frequent outbursts as he witnessed for himself just how depraved the Mountain Men could be.

Ten women in various stages of pregnancy were hooked up to darkened machines that had, up until recently, fed them a steady cocktail of light sedatives and nutrients; without that constant slow drip, they started to awaken. Wick and Big Ray stayed with them, easing the women through the first groggy moments of consciousness while Bellamy and Clarke moved on to the next room.

Here were the children of all ages, in row after row of peaceful, innocent sleep. Clarke's heart threatened to collapse at the sight and at the disgusting lack of concern shown by any adults. Not a single person had come through the doors to check on the women or children. Bellamy looked at Clarke and she saw it in his face too: the inability to comprehend this level of callousness.

"There's more," Clarke admitted. "Do you want to know?" Part of her hoped he would refuse.

"I _have_ to know," Bellamy answered with a fearful growl that promised pain to any Mountain Men stupid enough to show up now.

Clarke took him to one last room. She refused to go in, opening the door and letting Bellamy see for himself. He only made it a few feet before rushing back to Clarke's side. By the blue glow of Jasper's lantern he grabbed her, seeking out her lips in a desperate effort to steal from this place even a brief moment of grace and beauty, something – anything - to help him battle the horrors of that room.

"What _was_ that?" he finally choked.

"That's what happens to the imperfect ones," Clarke rasped. "It's where they studied the effects of radiation." She had nearly become ill in that room, before Senator Cary had wisely dragged her back out.

"Clarke…" Bellamy's haunted face mirrored her own hurting soul. "What you and Monty did here was right. This… should never have existed."

She just nodded, waiting for the icy chill to surround her heart once more so she could get through the rest of their work.

They went back to rouse the children, moving quickly from bed to bed. Bellamy's jaw tightened as he fought back tears at the dull compliance of the forty young ones. Only the infants cried out. Even the toddlers simply followed directions with dull eyes. Clarke and Bellamy scooped babies from cribs and handed them to the oldest children, then herded everyone out to the main room as they offered words of comfort that felt hollow under the circumstances.

Wick looked terrified by all of it; Big Ray's face collapsed in grief when the smallest ones appeared before him.

"That is not fu -" he caught himself before he swore in front of them. "That is not right," he muttered.

"We have to get everyone out of here," Wick said. His normally genial face was far too somber. The women were more alert now, and several grabbed the hands of young children, prepared to escort them out of the increasingly stifling room. Clarke looked at Wick. She could feel the air growing staler by the minute.

"How long?"

"I'd say we have a few minutes to get the kids out, or it really won't matter anymore," he explained. Each level of Mount Weather was its own independent, insulated environment. Such a design feature would be an asset in the case of contamination, but given Monty's work, it would soon prove deadly to those on the heavily populated second floor. Oxygen deprivation would slow brain function, and hypoxia would affect everyone - but the children would be hit first. And worst.

Clarke nodded and turned to find Bellamy scooping bottles of drugs from a small refrigerator.

"I assume some of these could be useful?" he asked. Clarke glanced at a few of the bottles.

"These are mostly sedatives and antibiotics. Thank you, yes. We'll need syringes too... And anything else small enough to carry easily."

This time they did not bother hiding their lanterns. The fading blue glow was the least of their worries, now that they had fifty helpless people to save. Clarke and Bellamy held their rifles at the ready. Big Ray smiled at Wick and handed him a large hunting knife.

"Might be better than that damn useless rifle, in your fuckin' hands," the nomad teased quietly. Wick thanked him with a guilty grin.

The corridor outside the science wing was nearly empty. The few residents still present made a point of looking away. They were not interested in getting involved with whatever strange activity was taking place. Now was not the time for heroics or thinking of the greater good of the community; now was the time to focus on self-preservation.

By contrast, the stairs were crowded - but it was a panicky crowded, a milling, lost, anxious kind of crowded, the kind just aching for someone to take the reins of leadership.

"We're running out of air! Everyone upstairs, now!" Bellamy roared over the mayhem. It worked. The mob ordered itself, shifting into a stream of bodies heading resolutely toward escape. The pregnant women and children were swept up in the momentum. Clarke planted her feet against the force of it; she found Bellamy and wrapped her fingers into his shirt, worried he might be dragged from her side. Big Ray and Wick slid past, and Clarke buried herself into Bellamy's chest, not wanting to deal with the goodbye. She heard them calling for her but focused on Bellamy's dark eyes, begging him silently to stay here with her just a moment longer. He tilted his head in confusion, but wrapped her tightly against his body until the tide of humanity had passed. He was certain she knew what she was doing.

"It's time to go, Princess," Bellamy pointed out once the stairwell was again peaceful. He tucked a strand of blonde hair behind her ear and watched her carefully. After everything they had witnessed tonight, he fully expected her to break apart in his arms. Anyone would. And of all of them, she had the most right to it… But Clarke did no such thing. She inhaled, leaned her forehead against Bellamy's shoulder briefly, then exhaled and turned for the stairs.

"We have to find Senator Fulton," she explained, and her voice was far too steady. "We have to find her, and I have to kill her."

* * *

At the very top of Mount Weather lay a grassy field covered with the detritus of bombed emergency buildings. People emerged slowly, at first not even of their own volition; they were merely the initial test subjects, pushed out by the press of humanity behind them. They set foot hesitantly on the frosty grass, as if worried the toxic world might burn them alive. Several people actually held their breath as long as they could as they milled around helplessly in the open air. Eventually guards appeared to restore the Senators' merciless order. They herded people into small manageable groups, shooting anyone who did not comply. The rescued women and children were nearly at the fence by then, Wick and Big Ray ushering them through the chaos.

"We gotta fu -" again, Big Ray censored himself. "We gotta move faster," he yelled across to his partner. Wick was about to answer when he saw movement behind the giant nomad, and instead he choked out a strangled warning.

He was too late.

Bullets ripped through Big Ray's leg and side, spinning him around; he righted himself quickly and kept working. Not until the last of the children were through the fence and had disappeared into the woods on the other side did Big Ray fall to the ground. Wick grabbed him by the arm and tried to pull him through the fence too, but there was no moving the behemoth of a man.

"You stupid fuckin' idiot," Big Ray managed to grunt, "Get the fuck out of here before you get fuckin' shot! Ah, fuck, it does not feel good!"

"Don't be a dick!" Wick gasped. He looked around, worried. The guard that had shot Big Ray was a crumpled mass on the ground nearby, one of Ray's knives protruding from his throat.

"Okay, you know what? I'm going to get you out of here," Wick whispered. "Stay down, and play dead." He thought about what he had just said. "But it's only pretend, dude. Don't actually die." Then Wick slipped through the fence in search of Kane and the others.

* * *

"Clarke, you can't do this," Bellamy begged as he clutched her shoulders.

"I have to. Senator Fulton was in charge of the science wing, Bellamy! And she tortured Monty!" Clarke's voice was tight with rage, and Bellamy stepped back, surprised at the fury he could feel coursing through her.

"You're better than this, Clarke," he urged her. "It's not right."

"It _is_ right, Bellamy! _She… deserves… to die!_"

"Take it from someone who's been there, Clarke. You're making the wrong choice!" He struggled with Clarke's determination. He loved her. He wanted to say yes to her, he always did. He also knew if he let her do this, neither of them would recover from it. Clarke had taken lives before, but always there had been justification, another's life hanging in the balance. She might kill when necessary; she was not a cold-blooded murderer.

The distinction mattered to them both, even if Clarke could not see it right now.

Clarke was oblivious to Bellamy's internal struggle. She felt only frustration and anger at him for balking. She needed to make him see why this had to happen, and if he would not help, at least he would get out of her way. Senator Cary had asked her to end Senator Fulton's madness. She would fulfill that obligation.

"Bellamy, stop fighting me on this! I made a promise!" She shook her head angrily at the tears that sprang to her eyes.

"A promise you have to break, Princess!"

"No. You said it yourself: who we are, and who we need to be, remember?"

"This is _not_ who you need to be, Clarke! This is just revenge! … And I can't let you do it."

"You won't stop me," Clarke said with quiet confidence.

"I will, Princess. I'm so sorry." Bellamy grabbed her close and kissed her urgently, both an apology and a distraction as he brought a needle to her shoulder and injected her with one of the stolen sedatives.

"I love you," he whispered against her lips, waiting for her eyes to flutter shut. Bellamy held onto her until she was completely out, then slung her over his shoulder and headed up the stairs.

* * *

Kane, Wick and Monty watched for a lull in the action near their side of the mountain, before creeping back through the hole in the fence.

"Just how large is this man?" Kane grunted as he strained to lift Big Ray's feet. Monty and Wick, each hauling on a massive arm, were working too hard to answer. Together they half-carried, half-dragged the passed-out nomad to the perimeter where Abby and Raven were waiting anxiously.

"He'll never fit through," Raven suddenly realized. She cut away desperately at the chain-link fence, trying to make a space large enough for the rescue party.

It was a tight squeeze but they managed. Abby looked grim as she assessed the bullet wounds, and Raven and Monty recognized the look on her face. It was the look Clarke got when she was not at all sure of her patient's outcome, but did not want to frighten anyone.

"Get him into the woods, now," Abby ordered. "Jasper was hit too. Harper's staying with him, about two hundred feet in. Find her." She pulled back to the tree line with the others, but refused to move from there, watching the Mount Weather facility intently, breathing Clarke's name on every exhale. When Bellamy emerged, carrying her limp body over his shoulder, it took Kane's quick reflexes and strong arms around her waist to keep Abby from lurching out of the woods.

"No Abby," his voice was a comforting murmur at her ear. "Blake has this under control." He prayed he was right.

Bellamy glanced around before making the run for the fence. Raven appeared beside Kane at the forest edge, handing him a rifle and shouldering her own, ready to provide cover if necessary. When Bellamy got to the perimeter Kane moved forward to help, but Bellamy refused to let go of his cargo.

"She's fine, just unconscious," he assured the councilman, cradling her head against his neck. Kane nodded as he watched the care Bellamy took with Clarke.

The Senators did not waste scant resources on the escapees. They had to focus on restoring order among their terrified displaced citizens, and they did so with the same violent fervor they had used to keep people subdued when they were underground. As the peppering of guards' rifle fire slowed behind them and the frenzied screams became less commonplace, the spacemen and their new charges crept into the darkness of the evergreen forest and turned North. Bellamy swallowed hard and hoped Clarke would wake soon. He could not possibly process the horrors they had seen and the losses they had suffered tonight without her, and Abby would need help if they were going to save Jasper and Big Ray.


	25. Chapter 24

_**A/N:** Man, I really hope you will forgive my tardiness on this chapter! I work in education, so as you can imagine my life just got crazy hectic! Will you accept this longer offering as some compensation? Pretty please with next chapter's Bellarke lemons on top? :D  
__**A/N2:** You may not realize how amazing _Marina Black1_ is. She has been sick for DAYS but still fulfilled her beta duties! I am forever grateful! I hope all of you have taken a moment to check out her work, especially her Sara/Malcolm piece!  
__**A/N3:** In related news, I have now made four (mostly Bellarke) videos for The 100, with more in the works. There is a link to my YouTube channel on my profile, and I just hope you will all be as kind to my videos as you have been to my writing. And I've also joined Twitter! WHAT!  
__**A/N4:** I wish I could explain how much **I love reading your reviews**. I may like them more than my own story! And for those of you posting guest reviews, you are SO great and I'm sorry I don't have a way to reply to you directly. But know that I would if I could! *hugging all of you giddily*_

* * *

Bellamy carried Clarke in his arms through the dark rainy woods, pushing away a dread he could not quite explain as he glanced down at her unnaturally slack features, barely visible now that the lanterns had faded to uselessness.

He felt certain the Mountain Men were not in pursuit this time; they had their own concerns at the moment. Monty and Raven should be proud of their work. Bellamy made a mental note to acknowledge what the brilliant couple had accomplished here tonight. And as for the wounded… Well, Jasper looked rough but Abby seemed optimistic about him. Bellamy had underestimated Jasper at so many turns; he needed the young man to survive this latest bout with danger. Bellamy needed to express his gratitude to Jasper for never giving up on any of them. That endless kindness was one of the greatest gifts to their small band of survivors.

Abby was much less confident about Big Ray's prognosis. The sheer number of bullets that had riddled his body would have killed a lesser man instantly, and she monitored him constantly as Kane, Wick, and Monty struggled under the nomad's weight. Bellamy knew they needed to stop soon, or they would almost certainly lose him. Just a few more minutes of travel, then, enough to put a bit more distance between them and the mountain.

…And then there was Clarke. Thinking her name filled his heart with a fresh wave of uncertainty. Had he done the right thing? He was sure he had, because the thought of letting her commit a crime of revenge sent a shiver through him. She would have ceased to be Clarke, at least in the way he knew her, the Clarke with morals so unshakeable she had become his North Star. But would she see it that way? He felt her shift slightly against his chest and tightened his hold. Without slowing his pace he brushed his mouth across hers, a part of him guilty for taking advantage of the moment, another part not giving a damn. Her tender lips warmed him and there was a rough tightening in his chest, as he wondered if he had damaged her trust in him so irreparably that he might never again feel her kiss him back.

Abby stopped the group, adamant in a way Bellamy recognized from previous experience with Clarke. The doctor stared Kane down, insisting they find somewhere for her to minister to Jasper and Big Ray.

"If we keep going, it won't matter how far we've run, we'll be guaranteeing their deaths," she announced through gritted teeth, staring up at Kane with an intensity the former councilor found dangerously attractive.

"Fine. But not here," he pointed out, looking around them at the disturbing openness of this part of the forest. They would be too vulnerable here.

"There's a river at the bottom of that slope," Monty piped up, realizing they were near the home of the giant snake that had attacked Octavia. "I wouldn't recommend it for bathing, but there are places along the shoreline where we can find shelter." Kane tilted his head thoughtfully, but Abby was already moving in the direction Monty had pointed.

The large boulders and slabs of limestone at the water's edge had lost their battle against the river eons ago; the area was littered with shallow caves and secluded crevices. Abby busied herself setting up a makeshift clinic with the supplies Bellamy had plundered from the Mountain Men, Raven and Harper took Wick hunting, and Kane organized the rest of their group, assigning tasks as he could to the women and older children. He frowned as the realization finally hit him that they had lost people in the breakout. The young farm tech named Liam would not be returning to his wife; he had gone over the railing during their fight for freedom. And Sofie... Kane heaved a deep sigh. _Sofie_. Such a talented guard, and truly a loss they would feel in the months and years to come.

Unfortunately, this was not the time for grief. That was a luxury for another day, and right now it was the survivors who mattered. Once everyone was settled Kane looked around for Bellamy and Clarke. He had quite a bit to discuss with those two.

* * *

It had taken time, but Lincoln and Anya were finally able to speak to each other civilly. Anya actually found the spacemen easier to understand than her own former soldier. The spacemen had simply been fighting for their right to own a part of the forest. She had fought back, but not for personal reasons. Lincoln though… Lincoln was just a traitor. It was different. That young Octavia woman was at fault there. Anya watched the two of them together and knew. He could act high and mighty, and talk about the moral ambiguity of fighting frightened teenagers, but Anya knew the truth about Lincoln's obsession with the girl.

Ironic, then, that Octavia was the one who brought about the reconciliation between Lincoln and his former commander. The dark-haired beauty was just such a persistently welcoming person. Nothing stopped her. Anya initially found her constant onslaught of affection infuriating, but as the days passed she realized Octavia truly wanted friendship. And when Anya learned of the girl's natural talent with a sword, there had been a subtle but valuable shift in their relationship. In the past few days Anya had taken to working with Octavia out in the sand dunes at sunrise, helping her master certain skills that might not occur to Lincoln. A man's center of balance was so different from a woman's; stances that worked for tall, broad Lincoln looked silly when emulated by petite, slender Octavia.

And Michael adored Lincoln, which did not help matters. The two men had nothing in common – one a naturally quiet and thoughtful leader, the other a decidedly lone-wolf warrior – and yet they actively sought out each other's company.

Anya, lying now in the soft warm bed as the midnight surf crashed just outside her window, shook her head and reached over to check on the little girl sleeping on the small cot nearby. In the darkness, Lydia was mostly just a sound: a slightly raspy exhale that was not quite a snore but more than just a breath. Anya smiled at the noise and rolled back to curl herself around Michael's sleeping form.

Lydia had latched onto Irene and Octavia from the beginning, and Monroe was almost always with them, as well. Anya worried a little about the influence of the space girls on Michael's impressionable daughter, but reassured herself with the knowledge that Irene would certainly inform someone if she felt Lydia were being corrupted in some way.

Irene. She was truly unique. There was something ethereal and quite nearly magical about Luna's daughter, and Anya had noticed the way Michael's shoulders tensed each time Finn found an excuse to be near the girl. Anya was not necessarily interested in the love affairs of these children, but the affect they had on Michael was most certainly of concern to her. She stroked his bare shoulder as she thought about how she could make it better for him, but sleep stole upon her before she had a chance to arrive at any possible solutions.

She was dreaming of past victories and defeats by the time Michael, drawn out of slumber by an uneasiness that had hung over him for several days, stole softly away in the hopes of clearing his mind with a walk along the beach.

* * *

Miller was sulking as he wandered the shoreline. He wanted to pretend that was not quite the appropriate word, but really - what else could he say to explain how his mouth kept sliding down, how his arms remained stubbornly crossed, how his thoughts drifted so persistently back to Monroe? Why? He should be stronger than that. She was just a girl. But... he worried about her, her reactions to the things they'd been through. Bellamy always insisted on assigning her to gunner positions, or taking her out on crazy missions like that search for Octavia a few months back. Monroe should not be sent on those kind of missions, and Miller had pointed out the stupidity of the move to Bellamy. He had regretted his angry outburst immediately, trying to clarify that he was not actually calling _Bellamy_ stupid; the busy leader had shut him up with a brusque declaration that Miller's love life was not Bellamy's concern, that they had no time or room for chivalry, and that Monroe was more than capable of taking care of herself. Miller's shocked protests against the accusation of affection fell on deaf ears… and eventually Miller had to admit Bellamy was right. The first time he impulsively grabbed her hand, Monroe flinched and Miller dropped it as if it were covered in spiders. But then she gave him that little smile of hers, the half-curious, half-knowing smile, and it was all over. Fuck Bellamy. He would protect Monroe.

Because she was worth protecting.

And now she was spending all her time with Irene and Octavia? Where was the loyalty? Even Lydia was always hanging out with them. They were like some weird all-girl wolf-pack. He could feel their eyes sometimes, following him, and it always made him slightly nervous. He kicked at a pebble and looked up to realize he had made it to the stone jetty north of the colony. _Nice views out there_, he thought. _And peaceful_. Miller stepped up onto the wall.

He did not notice the figure ahead of him until they were both standing at the edge, staring out into the vast endlessness of purple sky and black ocean.

"Finn?"

"Hey, Miller. What are you doing out here?" Finn could feel his body tensing in anticipation of conflict.

"Just… needed some air." Miller was trying to think of ways to get out of the conversation.

"Why?"

"...Monroe." That should have been enough for Finn to drop it, but he did not.

"Yeah, I know the feeling," he said. Miller snorted.

"Really, Finn? You seem to be doing okay." His voice was challenging.

"What do you mean?" Finn was confused by Miller's obvious irritation. He was _often_ confused by Miller.

"Uh, _Irene_?" Miller shot back.

"I don't know what you're talking about." As soon as he said it Finn knew he sounded ridiculous.

"What! Do you know what an asshole you sound like when you say stuff like that? Monroe has barely had five minutes for me since we got here. And you? Fuck you, Finn. First Raven, then Clarke, now Irene. Do you even _know_ how to be alone?"

Finn wanted to shove Miller into the water. Let the ocean suck him away from here. But his body betrayed him; his face collapsed and he sank down onto a large boulder.

"No," he whispered instead. "I don't." The admission caught Miller off-guard and he stared at the slumped shoulders of the dark shape beside him.

"What?"

"Miller… I've never been alone. Raven and I were kids together, and it just kind of grew from there. She's never _not _been with me. When I thought I had lost her… I… I panicked. And Clarke, I mean, who wouldn't fall for Clarke?" Miller wrinkled his nose at the prospect. Clarke was definitely not his type.

"Yeah but Finn, that's fucked up."

A gentle laugh from behind them cut through the darkness and the two men looked back quickly. Michael was standing there, had been standing there for quite some time as he listened to the conversation.

"Miller is wise, Finn. You would do well to listen," Michael offered with a smile as he joined them at the water's edge. "If you do not even know who you are when you are alone, how can you possibly think you deserve someone like Irene?"

Finn rolled his eyes and huffed lightly. It still pained him to admit Michael's advice so far had been helpful; there was certainly no way he would add Miller into their little therapy sessions.

"Thank you both for your help, but I think I can take care of myself," Finn said as politely as he could. Miller, emboldened by Michael's surprising vote of confidence, pressed the point.

"We're not talking about you, Finn. We're talking about Irene. Could you take care of her? Seriously... Would you take care of her as well as you took care of Raven? Or Clarke?"

Finn stood up. There was no way Miller knew, was there? About Finn's declaration of love, about Clarke's admission that he had hurt her in the worst possible way? About Raven's assertion that she wanted to be loved more than Finn could offer?

"Guys. I get it."

"Maybe you do, maybe not," Michael equivocated. "Although I suspect the latter at this point. Finn, please hear me on this: Irene is special. And she is too good for you. You do not deserve her, not yet. I actually believe you may one day be deserving of Irene's love, but until then, I refuse to let you hurt her."

"Go float yourselves, both of you," Finn muttered as he pushed past the older man and headed back toward the beach.

"You may have been a little hard on him," Miller offered after a thoughtful moment.

"You were _definitely_ a little hard on him," Michael pointed out mildly.

"Yeah, but he already doesn't like me," Miller retorted, "So I've got nothing to lose."

"Hm." The very noncommittal answer from Michael set Miller's teeth slightly on edge. Now that Finn was gone, there were no other targets for Michael to focus that laser attention of his.

"Well... Good night," Miller tossed out quickly, nearly breaking into a run as he followed the rocky wall back to land. Michael watched him leave and smiled to himself. There was no doubt; with a little time, and just the right amount of pressure, Miller would eventually make a very capable leader. Not a Bellamy, perhaps, but men like Bellamy were more rare than the others seemed to realize. Still, any community would do well to have someone like Miller looking after everyone.

Michael sat on the boulder so recently vacated by Finn and stared out to sea, watching as a slight grey shadow moved along the horizon, consuming stars as it grew. A heavy storm would be making landfall before sunrise.

* * *

Bellamy huddled in a small cave a short distance from the others, waiting, watching as Clarke began to come around. Kane arrived just in time to see the young man's face contort in pain when the girl let out a low moan, and paused in the doorway. He could not bring himself to interrupt Blake and the Griffin girl. Any possible doubt about the nature of their relationship had disappeared. As he watched, Kane felt Abby sidle up beside him.

"Do you need to check on her?" Kane whispered. He hoped Abby would say no. She shook her head.

"Bellamy showed me the syringe he used," Abby replied with a quick grimace. "I can't say I'm thrilled that he anesthetized my daughter, but his theory was right – the dose was low, set for pregnant women. Clarke will be fine. She'll be pissed off, but she'll be fine." Her normally raspy voice was even rougher than usual, and it struck Kane that the events of the evening had been truly exhausting.

"You should sleep." He did not look at her as he said it, instead keeping his face trained on Clarke. She sat up slowly, Bellamy guiding her, his every movement telegraphing such concern that Kane almost stepped forward to offer comfort to the hurting man. He was glad he had not moved, though, when Abby leaned heavily against his shoulder. Kane forced back a smile, wrapping one arm protectively around Abby's waist as she allowed herself to relax into him.

Together, they watched Clarke's transition carefully, ready if necessary to intervene on behalf of Bellamy. Both adults were confident his actions had saved her life tonight, but neither was sure she would see it that way.

"Clarke," Bellamy began, and in the grey mist shrouding her mind his voice was uncertain. It sounded like the night they saved each other from Dax. The night Bellamy had first killed for her. But she could not find Dax anywhere. Had Bellamy buried him? Had he survived, and run away? She tried to remember where she was, what happened, why he looked so terrified… it was all a jumble. Her memories made no sense... Dax had been in the woods, not in a bright white hall... He had a rifle, not an EMP…

"There were… guards. And children, right?" She put her hand out and watched in fascination as her fingers moved just slightly slower than her thoughts. Bellamy wrapped his own strong hand around hers, and at his touch a little shiver of desire raced up her spine, coloring her cheeks.

"Bellamy," she whispered, smiling happily at his perfect mouth, his dimpled chin. She ached to tell him how beautiful he was, to tell him that she wanted to touch him, feel the pressure of his hot skin under her fingers.

"Bellamy, I'm thirsty," she panted instead.

Abby had warned him she would be. Bellamy handed Clarke a drink silently.

As the cool water slowly revived her, Clarke's eyes lost their dull unfocused haziness.

She stared at Bellamy over the rim of the makeshift cup, and he could almost see the moment the memories clicked back into place. Clarke set the cup aside with exaggerated care, still feeling slightly disconnected from her body, and narrowed her eyes at him.

"What did you do?" she whispered.

"Clarke. I had to stop you," Bellamy whispered back. He was so raw, grief and fear wrapped in a tight bundle of exhaustion, but Clarke expected more, expected remorse. She found none. He did not seem the least bit guilty.

"What did you _do_?" she asked again, her words an icy knife held to his throat.

"I drugged you," Bellamy admitted, and finally there was a brief flicker of shame.

"I…" Clarke stared at him. The silence between them was colder than the gusty wind blowing outside, and Bellamy could not take it.

"Clarke…" he reached for her but she flinched back. Her blue eyes warned him against trying again.

"I need some air," she managed, stumbling upright and fending off his feeble attempts to assist her.

Abby glanced at Kane as Clarke charged past them both, turning to follow her daughter outside.

"Clarke, honey," Abby called softly. When she caught up, Clarke was sitting at the edge of the river, refusing to look at her mother.

"Clarke." Abby sat down beside her and wrapped one arm comfortingly around the younger Griffin's shoulders.

It was the permission Clarke needed. She turned her face into her mother's neck and broke down, sobbing as her tenuously-constructed-but-temporarily-perfect world fell apart around her. She had built everything on Bellamy. She had trusted him, she had been so certain he would help her and instead he had betrayed her. She could not find language strong enough to articulate her devastation.

"He loves you," Abby murmured into Clarke's hair as her daughter wept. "He loves you, Clarke." She repeated the words until they became a mantra, and rubbed her daughter's back soothingly, waiting for the waves of emotion to pass.

* * *

"You care for her," Kane noted quietly as he sat down on the cave floor beside the tortured man who reminded him so much of himself. Bellamy had curled forward, his head in his hands. He was struggling with demons. Kane knew that feeling all too well.

"Blake, you saved the woman you love," Kane assured him. "There's no shame in that."

"Stop!" Bellamy groaned. "I lost her. She'll never trust me again."

"Oh, I doubt that," Kane whispered. "She obviously loves you too. Give her time."

Bellamy laughed but it was flat, devoid of real emotion.

"How do you know?" he asked wryly. "Drug a lot of girlfriends, do you?"

Kane shook his head.

"No, shockingly, never that." Kane thought of his checkered career on the Ark. "But I've done worse things, with perhaps less justification," he offered. As he spoke, Kane stared out the cave's entrance at the silhouettes of the Griffin women, huddled together on the riverbank. "And despite all of it, I think… I hope… I may be redeemable. At least in her eyes."

Bellamy was momentarily distracted from his own worries, his brow furrowed as he tried to grasp what Kane was telling him. It was when Kane forced himself to look away – almost as if turning away from Abby Griffin were physically painful – that Bellamy's eyes widened in comprehension. He knew that feeling all too well.

"You're smart Blake, but you're very young. You have so much life ahead of you. So many mistakes you still have to make," Kane began as a melancholy fog settled around them. "But this? …No, this is not a catastrophe. Can you love her enough for both of you, enough to get you both through this and out the other side? If so, then this is just a setback. It won't be easy, but hell – it'll probably build character," he offered. Kane's words burned a bright line of hope through the darkness within Bellamy.

Could he love her enough for both of them?

He already _did_.

And Clarke would eventually see reason. That was part of her beauty, her ability to cut through the bullshit and find the right path. In the shadowy insecurity of this cave, his passion and her clarity of mind were the two things Bellamy Blake knew with certainty they could rely on to help them survive this world.

* * *

Wick sat vigil at Big Ray's side as the giant nomad slipped in and out of consciousness. He did not bother hiding his tears from the others in the cave; Raven, Monty, and Harper were too busy processing their own emotions to notice him, anyway. Jasper's injury had been the result of a clean shot as they fled up the stairs, the bullet entering and exiting with little trauma. Abby had stabilized him, and now it was a matter of letting him rest and giving him time to regain his strength. Harper understood all of that, but it did not help her feel any better watching Jasper sleep fitfully on the cold cave floor. He looked so weak and vulnerable, which was not the Jasper she knew. Monty had taken over as nurse for his best friend, finding excuses to keep busy. That left Raven to monitor Harper; she watched the young girl carefully. Harper was tougher than a lot of people had given her credit for. That didn't mean she would enjoy watching Jasper suffer like this.

"Hey, why don't you and I go get some water," Raven offered gently. Harper nodded silently and kept herself together until they were outside the cave entrance. Then she broke down, crying not just for Jasper but for Sofie and Big Ray and the children and all the other horrors they had seen tonight. Raven patted her gently on the back and waited for Harper to calm down before speaking again.

"Harper, Jasper will be fine."

"I know that," Harper admitted as she wiped her eyes. "But honestly? I think this is the first time I kind of miss life on the Ark. At least up there, I wasn't always worried about someone dying." Raven bit back a derisive snort. Obviously Harper had a different understanding of life on the Ark than Raven did.

"I think you're looking at this the wrong way," she answered. "Sure, life here is more challenging - but it's also so damn beautiful. Would you and Jasper have met, if we were still on the Ark? Would you and I be friends?"

"Hey." Clark's quiet voice cut into their conversation. "How is everybody in there?" Raven turned around, chewing on her lip as she took in her friend's tear-stained face.

"Well, we made it out, but Jasper and Big Ray were shot by the Mountain Men. Your mom says Jasper's going to be okay," Raven added, both for Clark's benefit and Harper's. "She… says a lot less about Big Ray." It actually hurt Raven to express the thought out loud. She hadn't taken the time to think about it, focused as she had been on Monty's concern for Jasper. But now that it was sinking in, Raven started to choke up.

Clarke, her eyes still red and hot from before, felt the weight of Raven's words but could only heave a ragged, dry sob as she turned and rushed for the cave. She had to see Big Ray. He had to live, because she very selfishly needed him to. She was not sure how much more loss she could take tonight.


	26. Chapter 25

_**A/N:** I love my beta. _Marina Black1._ She is a goddess who, even with pneumonia, corrected my medical ignorance time after time for this chapter, and then went ahead and actually edited, too! Plus she's working on some Teen Wolf one-shots that, and I don't even watch the show, I honestly looovvvve. Go check them out!_

_**A/N2:** I'd love for you to follow me on Twitter (justvisiting80) - and I will ABSOLUTELY follow you back! :)_

_**A/N3:** Seriously guys, **please let me know what you think,** if you don't like "x", or want more of "y", because **I really do depend on each review** to keep me going, and I want to write a story you will enjoy, too! _And I'm giving y'all a HUGE chapter this time, as a pre-thank you gift for all your reviews. :)_  
_

_[CONTENT WARNING: Blood, lots. Language. Sex.]_

* * *

Clarke stared in grief at the frail figure on the ground, such a far cry from the Big Ray she knew. She swallowed away a lump in her throat, observing the labored breathing and sallow face of her friend. He looked small right now. Small and - for the first time since they met – so very, very mortal. Abby approached and stood quietly to the side.

Clarke was sure she already knew the answer, but asked anyway.

"Tell me the truth Mom. Will he even survive the day?" Abby placed a hand on her daughter's shoulder in pained sympathy.

"We do have a shot at saving him, honey. If we can amputate his leg _before_ he goes into shock, maybe... maybe there's hope." Bullets had riddled Big Ray's left thigh, and the inside had been left a tangled, shredded mess. The leg was already lost; they needed to remove it before it took the rest of him, too. Clarke looked around the room.

"How? We have no tools, nothing to sterilize with, no sutures, no medicine."

"Bellamy helped with that," Abby offered with an encouraging smile her daughter chose to ignore. She pointed out the pile of medicine on the cave floor. "He and Raven left earlier, to gather some supplies they had hidden nearby…?" Her mother sounded uncertain about the details but Clarke recalled the hole dug beneath a copse of mulberry trees a few miles from the Mount Weather fence-line. She nodded. It seemed a month ago. All the items they could not take with them into the facility were there: tents, Bellamy's axe, a radio, some canteens.

"Mom, I'm scared. We could kill him," Clarke warned quietly, painfully. She suddenly felt ill. It was one thing to perform an amputation on the Ark, with a bone saw and in a sterile environment. This was going to be a bloodbath. Abby pursed her lips and nodded.

"Yes, we could. But he will _absolutely_ die if we don't try. Now help me prep, please, Clarke. And go through those meds for anything that might be useful." Abby was already on the move, and with each step toward the exit she became less Clarke's mom and more Dr. Griffin. Clarke rubbed her hands over her face hard, searching for that same medical detachment. It was easier when she wasn't exhausted and emotionally drained but she found the strength, dragged it out from somewhere deep within herself and threw it around her shoulders like a protective mantle. Clarke's face went slightly unfocused for a moment before her blue eyes hardened into sapphires; she turned to her task with quiet resolve.

Abby came back with Kane, who carried a pile of wood and immediately set to work building a strong fire near the mouth of the cave. Clarke silently handed her mother all the narcotics she could find, and Abby sighed.

"It won't be enough."

"I know," her daughter whispered. She cleared her throat and showed her mother Big Ray's collection of hunting knives, the closest thing they had to surgical implements. Abby ordered Clarke to wash up, then escorted everyone else from the cave. She made one exception for her other, more stable patient: Harper asked if Monty could stay with Jasper, and Dr. Griffin agreed.

"I'm not leaving either," Kane announced from beside the fire.

"Marcus," Abby began, but he crossed to her, his hands grasping her shoulders gently as he pressed his point.

"How long will it take? Hours?"

Abby was silent.

"And at some point he _will_ wake up, won't he?"

Clarke choked back a cry.

"You might need to restrain him, Abby," Kane pointed out. He looked across at Monty and hesitated only briefly before continuing. "The boy and I will be here when the time comes." With that, he turned to the knives arranged before them and asked which would need to be sterilized. Abby selected several for him to set in the roaring fire.

* * *

Raven and Bellamy hurried back toward the caves, silent, intent on their path. The darkness was just starting to ease along the eastern horizon but there was a looming grey-blue quality to the sky in that direction. They had already learned those colors heralded a heavy storm. At these temperatures snow was inevitable. They scrambled down the hill toward the river, and Big Ray.

"Raven, you and Monty need to get that radio working," Bellamy ordered as they picked their way across the slick boulders at the water's edge. They had been so silent for so long; his voice seemed unnaturally loud in the pre-dawn, pre-storm stillness.

"Monty's inside with Jasper," Harper called out from somewhere ahead of them. "Wick's free, though."

"Fine. Just get it done." Bellamy scooped the rest of their supplies from Raven's arms and slipped away. When he entered the cave, he paused for a moment to process the scene before him. Jasper and Monty were to the side, Jasper awake now but weak. The friends stared in silent horror at the bloody chaos in the center of the space. Clarke and Abby were working their way through Big Ray's leg, desperate to save the man. Bellamy's eyes widened and his jaw tightened to see Clarke once again elbow-deep in blood and muscle and pain and looming death. Kane, tending the fire, caught Bellamy's expression. He nodded toward Clarke with a hint of question on his lips, but Bellamy just shook his head slightly. Clarke would be fine with him here; she was not that petty. She was much too good for that.

He hoped.

Abby called out a hurried greeting as she worked, and Bellamy watched Clarke's back for some sign she would acknowledge his presence. She stilled for a moment but otherwise did not react, continuing to monitor Big Ray as her mother worked through the muscles of his thigh. Clarke applied pressure wherever blood gushed too heavily. The goal now was simply to keep as much of it in Big Ray's body as possible; with the amount he had already lost, though, a transfusion was inevitable.

Abby and Clarke were trying to conserve their limited supply of medicine. Their patient had stayed under anesthesia so far but at these levels, he would wake soon... And they only had enough to knock him out one more time. After that they would have to rely on the pain itself to make him pass out. Clarke's greatest worry was shock. This amount of stress on his system could send him over with little warning. Abby grunted as she struggled through a particularly stubborn layer of muscle. She turned to exchange knives with Kane, who handed her a super-heated blade with which she cauterized her latest work. She waited as the knife cooled, staring thoughtfully at Big Ray in this moment of relative calm.

The world went suddenly scarlet as the man awoke, his body tensed, and an arterial spurt misted blood over Clarke. Bellamy lurched forward immediately, wanting to help her but uncertain how. She was drenched in crimson fluid from chin to stomach. He fought back the urge to grab her, pull her away from the disorganized turmoil and sickening pools of blood at her feet. He wanted to find some place safe for them, somewhere no other soul could ruin. Instead, he followed Abby's barked instructions, reaching for the syringes nearby and administering the narcotics. Once Big Ray was sedated again, Bellamy grabbed a canteen of water and rinsed the blood off Clarke. He cleaned all but her hands. They were still buried deep inside her patient's mutilated leg.

Clarke pinched her eyes shut quickly, willing her tears to stay where they were. _Dammit, _she thought,_ Keep it together, Clarke._

"Tell me what to do," Bellamy said from just over her shoulder. He was speaking to Abby, but Clarke shivered at the nearness of his voice. She still felt the pain of his betrayal, of course. In this moment though, her guard was down. She leaned back slightly, seeking out Bellamy's frame, and her right shoulder connected with his hard chest. She closed her eyes and leaned just a bit more heavily into him, only for a moment. She needed to steady herself, and he did that for her. With her head resting gently on his shoulder, Clarke felt his heart rate spike. He kissed the crown of her head once, lightly, almost hesitantly.

"Princess. You can do this."

She nodded gratefully and bent forward, focused once more on Big Ray as her mother asked if Bellamy would be willing to donate blood.

* * *

When the time came, Bellamy and Kane took shifts sawing through Big Ray's femur.

It was like some terrible parody of how medicine should be, of everything Abby and Clarke believed. This was not "do no harm", Clarke thought, watching the suffering of the No-Man's Clan leader and the frightened looks on the men as they struggled with the task. Kane and Bellamy were soldiers, fighters, leaders. They were not healers. The kind of strength required to do Abby and Clarke's work was something both men envied. They were perfectly aware they did not have it. They would do this one task because someone who mattered more to them than their own life had requested it. And after, they knew, they would fight through nightmares of that terrible, unending sound, the scrape of metal sawing through bone. It would be another scar, added to the countless others already drawn across their souls.

Clarke realized she was weeping at one point, and wondered how long the tears had been there. She could not remember when they began. But watching Bellamy work to save Big Ray did something to her; it triggered confused, disorienting fears. She found herself considering how easily it could be Bellamy on this wretched cave floor. What would have happened to Bellamy if they had found Senator Fulton, and the woman had bested them?

Clarke felt her heart strain under the crushing pressure of her feelings for Bellamy, his betrayal of her trust, her selfish need for him to never be the man under the knife.

Maybe this had all been her fault. Maybe falling in love with Bellamy Blake had been the single greatest mistake of her life, and everything that had happened was a result of this one spectacular blunder. Maybe Big Ray would not be in peril, maybe Jasper would be healthy and whole and Sofie and that other man would be alive. Maybe…

… But how far back could she go? When had she fallen for him, really? Had it been when she saw his proud beautiful face crumble at the knowledge that hundreds of lives from the Ark were now etched into his soul? Was it when he killed Dax to save her? Or had it been the night he looked to her for permission to torture Lincoln, silently proclaiming his willingness to blacken his own soul yet again, for her benefit? She feared it had been earlier yet, perhaps that day in the woods when she realized he could not bring himself to kill Atom… although a part of her had felt a flutter even before they exited the drop-ship on their first day. Some part of her was drawn dangerously to him, even then.

How to untangle what was his influence on her, and hers on him? How to untangle right from wrong, determine which terrible events were directly the result of her heart ruling her head?

Kane stepped forward as Bellamy lagged, and offered to take over the last portion of the sawing. Bellamy glanced at Clarke quickly and shook his head. He would finish this, for her.

* * *

It had been hours of torment for all of them. Clarke needed time alone. Despite the heavy snowfall, Clarke swept a clear space for herself at the top of a large boulder overlooking the river. She did not move as a white blanket accumulated around her. From here it muted everything, sight and sound and feeling. Clarke watched with a numb kind of blankness as a deer picked its way over the snowy bank on the other side, searching carefully for predators before stretching down for a quick drink. Large flakes diffused the scene as they fell, and the deer seemed almost unreal. The way it moved, eyes always seeking, ears twitching at every sound… Clarke knew that feeling. No rest for the hunted.

"Princess," Bellamy called softly from the base of the rocky outcropping. "It's too cold out here."

"Go away, Bellamy."

"I can't do that," he answered, and in fact he was already climbing to join her. She refused to get up, refused to move at all, but he did not seem to care. He stood at her right shoulder, unconsciously taking up that position of counsel they both found so comforting and stable. Together they watched the deer in silence, until something startled it and it ran, quickly swallowed by the swirling whiteness of the blizzard.

"Clarke, I stand by my decision," Bellamy declared, squatting down beside her. He was wise enough not to reach out, although there was no part of him that did not ache for her. "You weren't thinking clearly."

"You made a unilateral decision, Bellamy, _again_!" Clarke shot back. They'd had this fight before. It was frustrating to have it again. She felt her breathing shorten and her heart rate accelerate as her body prepared for battle. "That's not how we work! We don't work _at all_ if you're just making decisions for both of us!"

"...Unilateral decisions like abandoning our people, and taking off for Mount Weather without me? Or unilateral decisions like committing a revenge killing?" There was no battle in Bellamy's voice, just a quiet observation. Clarke's shoulders fell.

"That's different," she tried. "Those weren't about you, they were about me."

"No, Clarke. It's always about _us_." Bellamy finally reached out to her. His fingers caught her chin and she let him turn her face slightly. They watched each other with a caution that had not existed between them for quite some time.

"You made the rules here, Princess, and I've respected them, but it goes both ways. _Everything_ you do matters to me, affects me. Affects _all of us_." He sighed heavily and dropped his hand to rest on her knee.

"I'm sorry," he whispered.

Her brows knit together and her lips tightened until they nearly disappeared.

"Don't you _dare_ apologize, Bellamy! It's just a lie, if you still think you did the right thing!"

"I _did_ do the right thing! And I'm _also _sorry you feel hurt," he tried to explain. "Clarke… some day, you'll see my side of it. I couldn't lose you."

She swallowed and stared into his dark eyes, two deep pools of anguish begging her for relief from the agony of her anger.

"I need you too much," he whispered.

* * *

By sunset the worst of the blizzard was over. With sixty-three bodies to keep warm, Bellamy and Kane herded most of the group into the largest cave with Jasper and Big Ray. Since it could not fit everyone, Raven and Monty slipped away to a smaller crevice nearby for some privacy. After a short but heated debate, Kane convinced Abby and Clarke that they should rest as well. They finally agreed, after checking on their patients and leaving instructions with Harper and Wick should either of the wounded men need assistance overnight.

The mother-daughter pair found themselves back in the smaller cave Bellamy had first used for Clarke. After the events of the day, both women felt drained. Just before they fell asleep, however, Abby reached across the small space separating the women and clasped Clarke's hand.

"Clarke. I know a lot has happened, but I need to tell you… I do think Bellamy is a good man," she began. Clarke tried to pull away but her mother refused to let her. "And honey, he's good for you," Abby continued. "I can tell. I wish I could help you see, because I know what it's like to find the one who makes you a better version of yourself, Clarke. Your father -" But she had found Clarke's trigger.

"_No,_ Mom! I won't do this now," her daughter suddenly protested. "You and I may have to live on this planet together, but I am _not_ ready to forgive you for what happened to Dad," she choked out past the hard lump in her throat. "Not for that; not for a while." _Maybe not ever_, she admitted silently to herself.

Abby did not answer. Clarke heard a sniff and realized her mother was crying. _Well, good._

"You know what, I'm going to check on Big Ray," Clarke said with a sigh. She left the small cave with her head down, so deep in her own troubles she barely registered Kane passing her on his way to confer with Abby.

"Clarke? Are you okay?"

"Yes, I just want to make sure Big Ray is comfortable."

"There are others who can do that," Kane pointed out.

"I know." Without another word, Clarke continued up the snowy path.

Big Ray was actually awake when Clarke arrived, and her heart swelled to see him grin weakly at her.

"How are you feeling?" she asked with a smile.

"Every fuckin' part of me hurts," Big Ray admitted. His voice lacked its usual bellow, but Clarke took the swearing as a good sign. She glanced around them quickly.

"You're lucky the children are sleeping," she warned him teasingly. "That kind of language will get you in trouble with Bellam -" Clarke caught herself and looked away.

Big Ray noticed.

"Pretty Clarke? What the fuck's goin' on?" he asked kindly, lifting his head a few inches to stare at her. It was so selfless, to be concerned about her when his own grasp on life was still tenuous, that Clarke had to struggle for breath as her chest tightened.

"…He thought he was protecting me," she began, and at that Big Ray stopped her.

"Oh, then you're fuckin' fine," he announced as he settled his head back on the pillow Wick had constructed from someone's jacket.

"What?"

"Did he do something _really_ fuckin' stupid?"

"Yes."

"Right… Because he loves you? Or because he fuckin' doesn't?"

"Because he…" Clarke's voice faded but she knew the answer and Big Ray did, too.

"So - you're fuckin' fine. Whatever the fuck Scary Shadow did, it was out of love. And you damn well know it. So that's the fuckin' end of it," Big Ray said simply.

"No, Big Ray, you don't understand! He -"

"He loves you. You know he loves you. That's the _end_ of it, I say," Big Ray declared, and he closed his eyes as he finished, terminating the conversation abruptly. Clarke was left slack-jawed.

"I always liked that man," Bellamy murmured gruffly from a shadow nearby, and Clarke jumped. She could not hold back a quick smile at his obvious lie.

"How long have you been there?" she asked.

"The whole time. I relieved Wick a while ago." Bellamy leaned forward so the light of the fire at the cave entrance illuminated his face.

"Princess," he began, and despite everything she drifted toward him, trying to resurface from the flood, trying to survive the endless waves of emotion that had repeatedly knocked her sideways today.

Yes, Bellamy's actions had hurt her… But he was also her anchor. When she reached his side, Bellamy looked down at her in that achingly hungry way of his, and without wasting time on thought Clarke grabbed his jacket collar, pushing him back into the shadows and responding to his hunger with an angry kiss.

She was not sure what she wanted, but there was definitely a part of her that wanted to hurt Bellamy Blake. So when she bit his lower lip hard and he flinched, a satisfied grin escaped. She ran her tongue over the wound, and Clarke felt a sudden heat behind her belly button, a raging need for Bellamy that was fueled by her anger, not tempered by it. She pressed into him, pushing so hard he stumbled back against the cold rough cave wall. Clarke's hands scraped through Bellamy's curls as her mouth parted, daring him to reciprocate. When he did, his tongue seeking out the delicate arch of her soft upper lip, Clarke stifled a moan and inhaled the warmth of his breath, trying to remember why she was angry with him at all. She lost the thread for a moment when his hands traced a path up her back and tangled themselves into her long golden hair, but by then the reason no longer mattered. She was angry, and she needed Bellamy, and in the chaos and frustration of this night those two feelings would have to co-exist.

The couple slipped outside. Once they were free of the crowd, Clarke poured herself against Bellamy again, ignoring the chill of the winter landscape as she let the warm desire within her core flow like liquor through the rest of her body. She tugged his jacket off and threw it into a drift of snow nearby, her frantic hands pulling at the rest of his clothing in a desperate effort to expose more of his skin. Her mouth sought and found soft flesh: at his throat just below his ear, along his collarbone, at his hips and perfect stomach. As she kissed she scraped her teeth roughly along his skin, reminding him that she was not yet ready to forgive.

Bellamy briefly considered stopping her, but he could not bring himself to do so. His whole body hummed under Clarke's touch, and his brain was struggling to maintain any clarity in this moment. He pushed the hem of her sweater up as they stumbled through the snow, and when he finally slipped it over her head he sank to his knees in wonder, ignoring the cold and damp as he buried his face in the soft glow of Clarke's bared stomach. He would do whatever she asked, if only she would forgive him. He would give her anything; he would take on her battles as his own, slay her demons for her, as long as she would promise her love to him and only him.

"Bellamy," Clarke gasped, and her fingers dug into the flesh at his shoulders as she spoke, "I need you."

_...Close enough._

He lifted her easily, carrying her to the water's edge where a collection of boulders formed a large, shallow alcove. He settled her on a bed of thick moss and dropped light kisses over her shivering figure as he stripped off her last few garments. Clarke was much less careful. She clawed Bellamy free of his clothes with a furious energy and then leaned into him again, pressing her chilly skin against his hot naked flesh and raking her fingernails down his back; he hissed at the pain. Clarke quickly covered his mouth with her own, overwhelming his thoughts with her sweet warm breath, whispering softly that she wanted him, right now.

He pulled her upright and pressed her against the rough face of a giant boulder; Clarke smiled to realize the tables had turned. She wrapped her legs around Bellamy and pulled him close, pulled him into her, moaning with pleasure at the knowledge that they were meant for this, that Bellamy filled her completely and somehow still left her endlessly aching for more.

Bellamy wanted to hold Clarke against his body, to love her like this, forever. She felt so right; she made him feel whole and human and clean. Loving Clarke was the wisest thing Bellamy had ever done; making love to her, the easiest. To spend eternity wrapped in Clarke Griffin… Bellamy knew he did not actually deserve that much joy, and so clung desperately to each precious moment with her. He groaned in pleasure as he felt her quiver, felt the telltale tightening of her whole body around his. Clarke froze, shattered, then melted, sighing his name into the hollow of his throat as her body relaxed. Bellamy wrapped his arms protectively around her. She gave a satisfied purr and kissed him lightly; he deepened it, holding her captive as he shifted position slightly and kept going. Clarke pressed one hand to the side of his face and smiled. How did he know? It was as if he had reached deep into her soul and found that secret need, that _endless _need for his love, and answered the call.

This time when she approached the terrible, wonderful precipice, the bittersweet feeling of ecstasy and its end rushing together in a fiercely powerful wave, Clarke drew Bellamy along with her. She waited until the last possible moment before dragging her lips across his cheek, panting her love for him with the tattered shreds of her self control before succumbing to the bliss. She felt his reaction, felt him explode at her words, felt her own body respond in kind until finally she collapsed against Bellamy's torso, drained and happy, thankful for the simple perfection of this stolen moment in which Bellamy's warmth would hold the cold white world outside at bay.

* * *

Clarke and Bellamy were up before the others the next morning. They were organizing the group's meager supplies in anticipation of the return trip when Kane appeared. He moved quickly, purposefully toward the couple. Bellamy grinned and raised an eyebrow at Clarke, who frowned; the last time anyone had seen Kane was when he entered Abby's cave last night.

"Sleep well?" Bellamy asked after they exchanged quick greetings.

"Actually, yes," Kane answered without a hint of irony. He smiled back and cocked his head at the young man. Abby had noted Clarke's absence last night. "And yourself?"

Bellamy threw his head back and laughed. The world was brighter today, sparkling and fresh and clean and Clarke still loved him. She was also still furious, she had insisted as she lay cradled in his arms earlier, enjoying the snowy dawn just outside their little shelter. But when she craned her neck around for a kiss, Bellamy decided he could live with this kind of fury. Let Clarke be angry for as long as she needed, if it meant she continued to kiss him like that.

"Blake, do you have a moment to speak in private?" Kane continued; the smile had disappeared now, replaced by a distracted concern. Bellamy glanced at Clarke in surprise.

"Whatever you have to say to me, Clarke can hear it too," he responded suspiciously. Kane looked from one to the other, his mouth tight and pensive. Finally he sighed and struck a soldier's At Ease posture, his hands clasped loosely behind his back.

"Where is Octavia? Is she alive? Is she safe?" he asked, trying hard to control his voice.

"I don't see how my sister is any of your concern," Bellamy answered immediately. Clarke could almost feel the hackles rising on his neck. What possible business was it of Kane's whether or not Octavia had survived?

"Please, Blake. I wish her no ill will. I simply want to know if she is well."

"She's fine, and I intend to keep it that way," Bellamy offered curtly. He was frustrated by this development. He was inclined to like Kane. Now though, Bellamy felt adrenaline kicking in, that fight-or-flight response he knew so well from sixteen years of hiding Octavia under a floor, one night of horrific mistakes, and a month of trying to keep her alive on a killer planet.

Kane leaned heavily against a nearby boulder and smiled with relief.

"She's really okay?" He looked to Clarke for confirmation. She nodded slightly, her brow furrowed. Kane's sudden interest in one of their people bothered her, especially given that it was Bellamy's sister. Kane ran one hand quickly through his hair and began pacing as he considered how best to explain.

He had been so focused on getting the answer to his question, he had not really considered what came next.

"Blake, you should know, I was unaware of her existence until it was too late," Kane began apologetically. As he spoke he stilled, coming to rest a few feet from Clarke.

She gasped at his words. There was a horrible sinking feeling in her gut and she looked at Bellamy to see if he had made the connection, but he was still thinking in terms of those who might try to hurt Octavia. He had not shifted gears yet; he had not taken into consideration –

"Octavia is my daughter, Bellamy."

As if in a dream, Clarke watched Bellamy process Kane's words. His face shifted from guarded protectiveness through shock and fear to understanding and finally, loathing. Clarke tried to stop him, knowing he would do something rash, but the air felt thick, soupy. She pushed against it, aiming not for Bellamy – he moved too quickly – but for Kane, hoping to throw herself in front of the former councilor before Bellamy could reach him.

She had to save Bellamy from himself.


	27. Chapter 26

_**A/N:** Greetings from Canada! I am on a mini-vacation and so I apologize for the slightly shorter chapter… I hope you will not think less of me for it! Please extend a HUGE hug to my brilliant beta, Marina Black1, for her awesome work and for writing fantastic pieces of her own._

_**A/N2: **THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR YOUR AMAZING RESPONSE TO THE LAST CHAPTER! As you may have realized by now, this piece is heading into the home stretch – and your reviews keep me going through this, the toughest part of any story. I love your feedback and appreciate all your comments, and certainly hope you will continue to feed the beast. Although to the guest reviewer who found it unsettling that Bellamy and Octavia are "only" half-siblings, I appreciate your comment – truly – but my half-siblings, full siblings, and I would disagree; we are all true siblings regardless of how much DNA we share. Just as our friends' adopted children are no less their children. Because family is family, and goes deeper than blood. :)_

_**A/N3:** I just really love each of you so very, very much. Thank you._

* * *

"Bellamy, _stop_!" Clarke commanded as she stepped in front of Kane protectively. She was certain Bellamy would not harm her.

She was right… but it was close. He pulled himself short just as he reached her. _Close._ So close, in fact, the white clouds of their breath mingled in the crisp morning air.

"Get out of my way, Clarke!" Bellamy growled, "He's responsible for _all of it_! You don't know; you can't possibly understand what that man did to my family!" He seethed at Kane over Clarke's shoulder and once again Clarke found herself grabbing his face, pulling his focus toward her. She adjusted her voice, lowering it as she tried to talk him down.

Monty and Raven had heard the commotion even from inside the cave, and come out to investigate. They stood to one side, sleepy and confused but unable to look away from the unfolding drama.

"What's going on?" Harper asked, joining them. She was supposed to be bringing water to Jasper. This, though - whatever it was – well, Jasper would want updates.

"I have no idea," Raven admitted. "I'm pretty sure Bellamy wants to kill Kane, though."

"Yes, but why?" Monty piped up, still trying to catch parts of the conversation now that their leaders had lowered their voices. It was a pointless effort though; Clarke was facing away from them and Bellamy was past the point of coherent speech. Monty turned instead to Abby and Marcus. The doctor gripped Kane's forearm to steady herself as Kane whispered a hurried explanation.

"He must have done _something_," Monty volunteered. "Look." Abby's free hand was pressed to her mouth in shock.

"But why didn't you just _tell_ me?" she said, loud enough for everyone to hear.

"_When_, Abby? When has there been _any_ time?" Kane looked like a man slowly coming unhinged. This wretched secret had haunted him for a year. Now it had been pushed out in the open – by his own hand - and his careful façade had started to crack. Kane's torment was evident to anyone watching… and _everyone_ was watching.

"Maybe when we first sent them down here, Marcus! You could have told me your daughter was on the drop-ship! I would have kept an eye on her; I would have…" Abby paused. She would have… what? She had been unable to do anything for Wells. She could not have done anything to help Kane's child either. Not really. Abby breathed deeply and tried to find some calm in this sudden storm.

"I'm going out on a limb and saying somebody down here is Kane's child," Monty offered his fellow audience members. Jasper would have laughed; the women frowned.

"But who?" Raven asked, still staring at Clarke and Bellamy. There was something beyond just general concern about the angry man's face. "I mean, it's got to be somebody important, right? Why _else_ would it matter that much to Bellamohhhmygod!" She smacked Monty's shoulder and swore.

"It's Octavia. It's gotta be." Raven's voice was a whisper. "Shit." The other two thought about her deduction for a moment.

"Damn," Harper finally said. "I was actually starting to like Kane. And now Bellamy's going to kill him. This totally sucks."

They were interrupted by a frustrated explosion from Bellamy.

"No, you're wrong! He deserves _nothing_ from me! Or from any of us!" Bellamy roared in response to something Clarke had said. She grabbed at him desperately as he turned back toward Kane, murder in his eyes. Her fingers finally found purchase in the chilly leather of his jacket and she tugged hard to stop him. There was a slight nagging at the back of her mind, an annoying little voice of reason pointing out quietly that if she had a syringe full of sedatives handy at this moment, she would likely be tempted… Just to keep him from making a terrible mistake…

Bellamy scraped his hand over his face and stared down at Clarke with wild eyes. Fury boiled through him, a restless energy, a need to keep Kane away from Octavia but also to make the man suffer. Suffer a lifetime for each terrified year the Blakes had spent on the Ark barely scraping by… a lifetime for each year Kane lived the life of the privileged while Aurora did… things… for any extra food and clothing rations she could get.

"He knew, Clarke, he had to! And he could have stopped it…" and just as suddenly and forcefully as it had appeared, Bellamy's rage evaporated. A sad, grief-stricken, uncertain little boy was left in his place, staring out at Clarke from behind dark eyes.

"Why did he let them kill her? He should have stopped it. He should have protected my mother. He should have protected Octavia."

Clarke felt his pain. _Everyone_ felt it. This was all too sudden, too public. She twined her fingers into his and squeezed reassuringly.

"Let's take a walk."

Bellamy nodded, willing to let Clarke take charge of this moment. He probably should put some distance between himself and that bastard. The temptation to actually hurt Marcus Kane was irresistible.

Abby watched the young couple disappear up the hill, then turned to Kane.

"Marcus, what have you _done_?"

"It was never supposed to be like this," Kane began defensively.

He was conflicted about sharing his story with her. Kane and Abby's relationship was intense and complicated: some parts so new they still glittered, others seeming to predate written language. He did not want to ruin his chance at a future with this woman, and telling her this... But he had agreed with the others. Earth was a new beginning, and if the Council could pardon The 100 for their crimes, certainly they all should be granted the same opportunity…?

Kane paced, and as he paced he spoke.

"Aurora and I… It was nothing, really. Not even enough to call it an affair." He paused as she floated up from the depths of memory: the striking young widow with the serious little boy on her hip, her quick broad smile and love of history attracting him despite their many obvious differences. "Perhaps that sounds callous to you; but it was a relationship we each entered willingly, and we were both well aware of its limitations." Kane smiled ruefully at his own words. "Well; in hindsight, of course, there were some things of which I was unaware." He glanced at Abby, wondering why she remained silent. In his experience, Abby rarely opted for silence.

"It was brief. She ended it, just as suddenly as it began. For sixteen years I had no idea why; but I never sought her out to ask, either. My career was just taking off then… And she was a seamstress from Factory Station…"

"And when Octavia was discovered?" Abby whispered. She tried to keep judgment out of her voice. She really had no right to judge, after all. Of necessity, the Ark had been a world free of forgiveness for crime, unencumbered by opportunities for redemption of sin. In that harsh world they had each made terrible mistakes for which they should rightfully have been killed, and from which they would never fully recover.

"It had been _sixteen years,_ Abby. It was like some nightmare, my past catching up to me. I was petrified. I thought only of my own self-preservation." Kane's eyes were bright with moisture as he spoke. "She never said anything. I wasn't present at the execution, I was too much of a coward. But I watched the security logs after." Kane swallowed hard. He had watched that footage every day for a month, forcing himself to sit through a little more of it each day, his own self-inflicted punishment. "She could have used my name - but to the end she refused. Abby, I…" Kane broke down then, reaching for her, pulling her close and clinging to her slight frame as if she would somehow pull him back from the precipice of guilt.

She held him, cradled him against her shoulder just as she would have done with Clarke. The healer in her searched for a way to ease his pain.

"Marcus, you are so lucky." She felt him stiffen in surprise. She pushed on anyway, her voice growing stronger as she warmed to the idea. "Yes, _lucky_. You can fix it now. You can still be a father, it's not too late." Abby crushed her eyes shut at the words, willing herself not to dwell on Jake, on his face as he said goodbye to Clarke for the last time. This was not about regrets of the past; it was about hope for the future.

* * *

There was a red hue to the sunrise today. Octavia, sitting on the railing of her little porch as she greeted the day, thought of the expression Irene had taught her during one of their first dinners with the Ocean Clan: "Red sky at night, sailors delight; red sky at morning, sailors take warning."

So. Another storm was brewing, this time to the west. As with most mornings, Octavia's thoughts drifted to Bellamy. Had he and Clarke succeeded yet? It had been over a week since she had convinced him to go after the best thing that ever happened to him. She really hoped that had been the right move.

Her only goal had been Bellamy's happiness. Watching the couple over those few lovely days when everyone was together with the Ocean Clan, it was clear they relied on each other for more than just decision-making. They shared something deeper. In the madness and terror of this new existence, Bellamy and Clarke had learned they were linked too closely to stay apart. Octavia shivered. Were it not for Lincoln, Bellamy likely would not have gone after Clarke. He was so used to thinking like a parent… putting Octavia first… that if he had not trusted Lincoln, he would have stayed, to everyone's detriment.

"I miss you, Bell," Octavia whispered into the silence.

Yes, they had been apart that last year on the Ark; but when they landed on Earth together it had seemed a sign. Here was a fresh new world, free and unknown, and the reunited Blakes would grab it and make it theirs. Life was suddenly a huge blank book to write as they wished. Bellamy could be the leader Aurora had gently groomed him to be, and Octavia would have all the freedom and adventure Bellamy had promised her in his bedtime stories.

So how had it become this? How was Bellamy off battling bad guys with Clarke, while Octavia was left playing house with Lincoln, tending to the endless gripes and worries of their people?

"Morning, Octavia," Miller called as he approached, interrupting her introspection. She waved him up the steps and hopped off the railing to follow him inside.

"What fresh hell have you got for us today, Miller?" Octavia asked with a teasing smile. The young man frowned at her. Something about the ease with which she moved around this place set him on edge. He was not yet one hundred percent sold on Octavia's "Grounder-in-Training" persona. It seemed… almost disloyal.

"It's Sterling. Again." Octavia groaned and glanced at Lincoln, who shrugged noncommittally.

"How? How does he do this to himself every time?" she muttered as she headed for the door. "I assume you took him to the Ocean Clan healers?"

"Of course; but Oct -"

He was too late. She was already gone, and he was left alone with Lincoln. The two men eyed each other warily.

"…But?" Lincoln finally prodded. It was all the permission the stressed-out Miller needed.

"The Ocean Grounders aren't going to put up with us much longer." He sounded almost defensive as he made the claim, as if he expected Lincoln to disagree. Instead, the tall Grounder cocked his head in surprise at Miller's insightfulness.

"How do you know? Did someone say something to you?"

"No, but I can just… feel it. They're not used to long-term guests, especially this many. And we don't have anything to offer them in exchange." Miller had that look on his face, that mixture of worry and anger so typical of him these days.

Lincoln sighed. He and Luna had just fought over this problem last night. He'd hoped to keep it from Octavia at least a few more days but time was not on his side.

"Octavia will not leave without Bellamy," Lincoln pointed out.

"I know." Neither would Miller. Their people were not the same without Bellamy and Clarke. It was one thing to limp along like this for a few days, relying on the Ocean Grounders' generosity; but he and Octavia were not enough, if they hoped to find their own place and build a new home. He had even considered seeking out the Ark survivors, to see if they could band together for support. Then he had thought of Lydia, and Miller knew he could not go back to the people who had robbed him of his family. He'd rather live with Grounders.

* * *

"Fuck him, Clarke! What the hell was he thinking? That he could just walk up to me and tell me that, and we'd be _friends_? Does he think he gets to be part of our family now? … Clarke, _answer_ me!" Bellamy's voice expressed both an order and a plea, a demand for explanation and a desperate prayer for release from the pain of this latest blow. Alone with Clarke, he worked his way through conflicting and competing emotions as they climbed the hill through the snow.

"I don't know what to tell you," she said honestly.

"That's right. Because he's nothing. He is not her father, Clarke! _I am_!" He roared the last line and then stopped. Bellamy was panting hard, less from the exertion of their climb than his admission of his assigned role in Octavia's upbringing.

"I was. I was her father, and her brother, and her only friend! That… that man…" Bellamy stopped again, nostrils flaring as he searched for the words. "That man stole _everything_ from me." He turned and started up the hill again. "All I had left was Octavia. And now he's going to take her, too?"

"No, he won't," Clarke assured him. She snagged his wrist and he stopped short but did not turn to look at her, still grappling with his own thoughts. "Bellamy, Octavia loves you. You're her whole world." _Besides Lincoln_, Clarke's brain pointed out mutinously. She shook it off. "She will always be your sister; she knows what you gave up to raise her. Nobody can ever take that from you."

When he did finally glance back, Clarke realized the little boy was there in his eyes again, frightened, desperate to believe. She was taken aback by his defenselessness; it tore at her, and Clarke could do nothing but pull him into a hug. He fell apart against her neck, finally allowing it all to catch up to him, letting the flames of his rage and insecurity and fear and guilt lick over them both, burning hot and clean and eventually leaving Bellamy drained, vulnerable, but lighter. Clarke waited.

When he had recovered slightly, she pulled away just enough to see him more clearly. She ran an absentminded hand through his curls and focused on the next steps.

"We have to talk to him," she pointed out. Bellamy stiffened.

"I'm not ready for that."

"I know. But you'll have to do it eventually. He'll want to meet Octavia at some point."

"Dammit Princess," but his voice was gentler now, nearly back to normal, "Can't you just give me a day to hate the guy?" Clarke smiled in obvious relief.

"A day. I can work with that. But you'll still have to find some way to put up with him today."

She turned downhill, but Bellamy stopped her. He grabbed her gently by the waist, turning her back to face him and leaning over her ever so slightly.

"Thank you," he whispered, staring into her kind blue eyes as he spoke. "Thank you for…" He wanted to say, _Thank you for loving me this much_. But he didn't.

"It's nothing," she whispered back. She wanted to say, _I love you more than this, you damn fool_. But she didn't.

Instead she kissed him, and it was as though she were telling him their story, her lips initially frosty with winter - until they parted gently, inviting Bellamy in. Hidden behind the chill was a sweet heat that fed Bellamy's own fire, a warm desire to give him everything but also a refusal to settle for any less herself. He tumbled into that kiss eagerly, feeding off her strength. He wrapped himself into her as it deepened. He felt blood surging through his body, not bitterly as it had earlier but in a way that whispered promises of beauty and comfort and incandescent joy. It was so tempting to follow the path outlined by those whispers …

Bellamy finally clawed himself free of his own dangerous thoughts, pulling back slightly. Clarke's whimper of pain at their separation was almost too much. He wanted her. He wanted her in ways she had not yet even discovered. He wanted to make her the mother of his children, to raise them with her in a world where nobody could ever step in and rob him of the experience, to watch them grow up and leave at the right time and finally, to grow old with her, loving her each day as if it were their last.

Some day he would tell her all of it. But not now. Now, he would do as she asked and find a way to deal with Kane. Now, he would help get the women and children and wounded back to Sinclair at the Ark survivors' camp.

Because he and Clarke had made a promise to each other, perhaps unspoken but no less binding, to be leaders first. Everything else would have to come later.


	28. Chapter 27

_**A/N:** Mega huge thank you and hugs to my amazing beta, _Marina Black1_, who has recently unleashed her prodigious talents on the Teen Wolf community with a "Pydia" story that is already at 3 chapters! Check her out!_

_**A/N2:** I am getting more comfortable with Twitter, and I hope you'll take a moment to visit me there! I plan to use it mostly as a place to announce updates on stories (FFN and otherwise), videos, etc..._

_**A/N3:** ... Speaking of which, I made a new video! It's on my YouTube channel and at the Tumblr page I share with my beta (links on my profile) - BUT YOU GUYS, THE 100 WRITERS RETWEETED IT! That blows my mind! ***My video got retweeted by the ACTUAL writers of the ACTUAL show!*** Help me I'm about to pass out!_

_**A/N4 (Because why not, at this point):** This chapter is structured a little differently. I'd love to hear your thoughts on whether or not you feel it works. Actually, I'd love to hear any of your thoughts. Because the Muses are completely addicted to feedback.  
_

* * *

"Raven," Monty began, "I never had a chance to thank you." The couple were fashioning a stretcher capable of supporting Big Ray's considerable mass. She looked up from the work, surprised.

"Thank me? For what?"

"For… Mount Weather."

"You don't need to thank me," she replied. "I had to do it, to make up for everything." Monty's face fell at the words, at the clarification of Raven's real motives. So it had all been out of guilt after all.

"…Because I figure maybe that way," she continued idly, "You'll finally believe _this_." There was no real warning. Nothing Monty could have identified. Raven simply stretched across the frame they had constructed, pressing her lips to Monty's cheek. She sank back after a moment, allowing a bright, vulnerable smile that sent his pulse racing.

He had no choice; he responded instinctively. He shoved the stretcher aside and pulled Raven close, his mouth seeking out hers, desperate to help her see how much she mattered to him, how much he had to give her, and how much he had kept hidden from her in his own need for self-preservation.

There were edges to Raven. She knew that. Everyone who spent any time with her knew that. There were the jagged points of her, the splinters made by Finn, by her mother, by having to keep up with male mechanics twice her age. She had become so sharp she risked cutting anyone who got too close. And yet somehow Monty slid between those dangerous edges, slipped right through and into the softness of Raven's heart. She was unprepared for the gentle love Monty now offered her; she gasped and smiled. It was not their first kiss, but it might as well have been... It was their first kiss as two people freed, for just this moment, from the burdens they had each carried for too long.

* * *

"Jasper," Harper murmured, "Are you in a lot of pain? And please don't lie to me. I'll know." She sat by his head, staring over at Big Ray who was deep in conversation with Wick. The nomad was certainly not well yet, but at least he looked better this morning. She tried to imagine how they were going to move him when the time came – and it was coming, too soon. Staying much longer would only invite discovery by the remaining Mountain Men.

"I'm fine Harper. I've been through worse and survived, remember?" Jasper smiled weakly as he said it. "And Big Ray… he's indestructible. Give him a few days and he'll be okay."

"…Yeah, well, we don't have a few days."

"What do you mean?"

"Clarke and Bellamy want to leave today." She shrugged at Jasper's incredulity. "Dr. Griffin approved it last night. Monty and Raven even started building stretchers for you two."

"How? Where are we going?" He looked around at the cave full of children, being tended to by the women Clarke had rescued from Mount Weather. Jasper was tired of all this running. He was tired of the uncertainty. Tired of the instability. At this point, he just wanted to enjoy peace and quiet with the people he loved, with Monty and Raven and Harper and Octavia, with Clarke and Bellamy. He wanted to be _home_, and he was finally starting to realize how much "home" had come to mean that little section of the forest holding their drop-ship, their makeshift tents and hand-built wall, the graves of their fallen friends.

"Well, up until this morning the plan was to go to Sinclair. But after what happened with Kane? I really don't know where we'll go. Just… away from here, I guess."

There was a heavy silence, which Jasper finally broke.

"We're so close to the landing site. I never thought we'd be back here. And now… I'm not even sure I want to leave again." He sounded miserable. It broke Harper's heart.

* * *

"Big Ray," Wick said, "You aren't going to die today, right?" The giant nomad blinked.

"How the fuck should I know? ...But no, I don't fuckin' plan on goin' just yet," he managed. Wick cracked a smile at that.

"Good. Because it'll be a lot harder for us to be drinking buddies if you decide to stop breathing." Big Ray chuckled lightly, but cut himself short at the pain that stabbed through him. He shot Wick a grimace.

"Don't fuckin' make me laugh," he groaned. Wick's face shifted, to one of true concern. He swallowed hard and checked Big Ray's bandages, just in case he had actually done some damage. He need not have worried; the Griffin women had been as careful as they could under the circumstances. Wick waited until he was certain Big Ray was more comfortable before continuing.

"What are we going to do about the people we rescued? The women and children?" Wick knew the Ark survivors would try to help, but he also knew they had enough problems of their own. This planet, it turned out, was so much more dangerous and unpredictable than they made it sound in the Earth Skills classes. Taking on the responsibility of fifty extra mouths to feed and clothe and care for… It was hard to see how a handful of displaced spacemen were well-equipped for something like that. Then again, Big Ray and his group were nomads; they were the leftovers, the ones who had been unable to find a place within the Grounders' very territorial clans. What did they know about building a home, or raising children?

"We'll fuckin' take care of them, that's it. We'll give those babies all the shit the assholes under the mountain never fuckin' did. Sunlight, fuckin' fresh air, -"

"- A new, far more colorful vocabulary -"

"- Well, I can fuckin' learn, too," Big Ray grinned.

* * *

"Irene," Finn asked, "Do you care about me?" They were seated on the steps of Luna's house, working on one of the fishing nets. There were always fishing nets to be mended. Irene paused and watched Finn work. He was almost as quick a study as Octavia.

"Of course I do. You are kind, and gentle. You are a good friend." She smiled as he looked up at her, but today it did not have the power over him it usually did. Instead of smiling back in that charming way of his, Finn tilted his head and stared into her eyes. Into her heart.

"But… is that it? Is that all I am to you? A friend?"

"Is that not enough?" She glanced down, hoping he did not see too much. She hated the war within herself. Part of her did not like the answers she was giving this man, but she could not listen to that part just yet. She and Michael spoke often of Finn, and of his personal journey. She knew what she had to do to protect them both, if they were to have any hope of a future together.

Finn continued, unaware of her conflicted feelings.

"No, it isn't enough. Irene, you _gotta _know how I feel about you. I -"

"Finn, please do not do this," Irene answered quietly. She grabbed his hand, a sweet soft torture that Finn both hated and could not refuse. "Do not push for something that is not ready. You might damage what already exists. Time, Finn. Time is all I ask."

When she said it that way, Finn could do nothing but agree. She was so calm and steady, and so certain… he knew she was right.

Time, something they _finally_ had in spades. She was right. There was no need to rush.

* * *

"Lincoln," Octavia announced, "I have to go to him." She had just bested the warrior in their sparring match, thanks to a new move Anya had taught her. As she sat on Lincoln's chest in the sand, a knife to his throat, Octavia forced back the light sting of homesick tears.

"You what?"

"I was wrong about all this. It doesn't feel right being separated from Bellamy again. It hurts. I wake up at night suffocating from it. God, Lincoln, what the hell was I _thinking_?!" Lincoln gently removed the knife from her grasp and sat up, settling Octavia into his lap.

"You were being a leader, Octavia."

"But that's just it! I don't want to be a leader, it's not me! I want to fight. Leading…. That's Bellamy's thing. I just want to have my own life back." Now the tears were impossible to hide, and Lincoln passed his thumb gently across Octavia's damp cheek.

"And what about your people?" He asked it not as a challenge, but a reminder.

"Shit." Octavia dropped her face into her hands. This had all gotten so complicated.

"I am truly sorry. But they need guidance, and with Bellamy and Clarke gone…" Octavia sighed at his words. She knew he was trying to help, but in this moment it felt more like he was creating a cage for her. She had promised her brother she could do this; she had been _so wrong_.

"Well… there's always Miller. And he actually likes it, I can tell. He can stay here with the group, and be Bellamy's lieutenant, just like he always wanted." Lincoln frowned. Clearly Miller had not mentioned his concerns about the Ocean Clan yet.

"Have you spoken with him?"

"No, I wanted to tell you first."

"Octavia, you must talk to him. There is so much to discuss, and you are now responsible for a great many lives." She sighed and closed her eyes, feeling this latest inevitable task as a great heavy weight on her shoulders.

* * *

"Sterling," Lara warned, "You have to stop being so clumsy. It's getting to be a little embarrassing." She leaned down to kiss his forehead and the blonde teen blushed.

"I know. It's so bad. Is Octavia really pissed?" He looked around the Ocean Clan medical hut as he spoke, in case Bellamy's little sister happened to be nearby.

"Yeah at first. But then she just got really quiet. I think she's tired." Lara twined the end of her long red braid through her fingers absentmindedly.

"Hey," Sterling called out to her softly. He knew that face. Lara was worried about something. "What's going on?"

"I overheard Miller and Lincoln talking," she admitted. "I didn't mean to. But I was going to tell Octavia about you slipping off the jetty, and Miller must have beaten me there, because she was already gone and he was telling Lincoln about…" She trailed off. It had sounded so bad.

"Okay, what were they talking about? ...Lara, whatever it is, it'll be fine, I'm sure."

"How can you be sure? Nothing is fine. Nothing has been fine in _so_ long, Sterling!" Lara started to cry. She just missed life before the battle at the drop-ship. She wanted the comforting closeness of the woods. She wanted the simple joy of carving out a new society for themselves. She wanted Clarke and Bellamy back.

"Lara, please, just - what did you hear?"

"We're going to get kicked out. The Ocean Clan are tired of us," she sniffled.

"They're what?" Sterling shook his head in confusion. "What does that mean?"

"I heard Miller. He said we're overstaying our welcome." Lara wiped at her eyes. She had allowed a moment of weakness in front of Sterling because they were basically alone, but now she had to toughen up again.

"So, okay. Then let's go home, Lara." He grabbed her hand in a tight, comforting squeeze. "The ocean was nice, but frankly, I'm tired of almost getting myself killed every three days. I actually really miss the forest, don't you?"

Lara's face said exactly how much she missed it. She grinned in relief and threw herself against Sterling.

"See, this is why I love you. Because you always know just what to say."

"Oh? And here I thought it was my awesome hair," Sterling quipped as he planted a kiss on the sweet redhead.

* * *

"Bellamy," Clarke cautioned, "Remember, we have to focus on preparing for the trip."

He was able to stay calm until Kane reappeared. As soon as the older man stepped out from the cave entrance Clarke's quick fingers snaked out to grab Bellamy's wrist. He glanced down, surprised to see his hand had balled into a tight, angry fist. He did not realize it had happened; he thought he had more control than that.

"Blake."

"Not right now, Councilor," Clarke warned.

"He's not a councilor down here, Clarke. On Earth, he's just a man," Bellamy growled.

"You're right, I am. I'm just a man. And I've made more mistakes than most, I know that. But Blake… Bellamy… This mistake?" Kane stopped and shook his head. "You must believe me. I had no idea."

"You know what? I _do_ believe you. But if you had known, would it have changed anything?" Bellamy strode forward, darkness at the edges of his vision pushing Clarke out of sight temporarily. He could see nothing but the scarred face of his newest nightmare. The desire to hurt Kane was not lessened, although there was, now, at least an interest in hearing more. He wanted to know all of it. He wanted to understand how this arrogant bastard had wormed his way into Aurora's life, how he had been able to walk away from her. Bellamy wanted to know if Kane would have fought for her, fought for Octavia. A real man would have; what kind of man was Marcus Kane, really?

Kane thought back to the day he had learned of Octavia's existence. He thought back further, to the man he had been when Aurora first appeared in his life. He had been young and foolish; she, a vibrant and tempting distraction from the pressures of his career. If she had not ended it, would he have stayed with her? If he had known about Octavia…

_…__Would it have changed anything?_

He wished he could tell Bellamy Blake that it would have changed _every_thing. He knew it was not true, though.

"I will not lie to you, Blake. You deserve better than that."

Bellamy stepped back, eyes narrowed at Kane's bald honesty. He waited for more.

"Who I was then…" Kane floundered for a moment. He was sure Blake did not know about the culling, about how Kane had ruined so many lives. "That man is not who I am now. I swear to you, nobody else will ever be hurt because of me. I will not allow it," he finally offered the fractured young leader. There was a beat of silence in which each man sized up the other.

"You are _not_ her father. You don't have the right to swoop in and claim it now, after all this time, after all she's been through," Bellamy declared.

"I -"

"No. You don't speak." Bellamy's body vibrated as he worked to control the rage. "Right now you listen." Kane glanced to his right, to Abby, watching it all with her arms folded over her chest. She smiled sympathetically and the small gesture fortified him. He swallowed, nodding his understanding. Kane had no right to claim any ownership of this conversation.

"My people will help get you and the other Ark survivors back to your camp. And then we will leave, and you will not follow us. And you will never reach out to Octavia. If you _do_ ever seek her out to tell her..." Bellamy let the fire in his eyes and the forward lean of his body finish the threat.

Marcus Kane wanted to say something. He wanted to find the words that would fix it all, for all of them.

But maybe, he realized, there were none. Maybe no words existed that could heal this kind of damage. Maybe there was nothing that would.

* * *

"Senator?" the aide called. "Are you in here?" Senator Fulton looked over her shoulder and smiled at the young black woman walking toward her through the large doorway of the abandoned ship. Her name… what was her name… It was always important to make people think you actually cared about them. That was one lesson Cary had taught her.

"Sarah," Fulton recalled. The girl beamed.

"Senator, are you sure this is the right place for us?" Sarah looked around the dingy metal room and shuddered. It was all so dirty… just like every other place above ground. Dirty. And cold. And the whole area reeked of death.

"Oh, I think it will suit us nicely," Fulton replied. She ran her hand lightly along the top of a metal chair attached to one wall. This first floor was lighter, almost airy; the upper levels were much darker, but darkness was something she and her people knew how to handle.

"I don't mean to sound impertinent, Senator, but there are so many of us… And there's not much room in here."

"We shall prioritize, Sarah! The most important members of our community must be cared for first. That is how we have always survived. Please inform the remaining Senators that we will reconvene here, at sunset tonight. In the meantime, since I have lost my senior aides, I would like to offer you a prestigious assignment, my dear." She tilted her head as Sarah's eyes brightened. The woman was ambitious. Fulton liked that. As long as the young thing did not overstep her bounds, she could prove to be a valuable asset.

"I would love to help," Sarah breathed. The Senator nodded and turned away. This conversation was already boring her.

"Good. I need a census. Who has survived, what are our human assets, which skilled labor sectors now lack sufficient worker representation… and then we must consider how we can make up those deficits."

Sarah shook her head in awe. Thank goodness Senator Fulton was in charge.

The silver-haired leader walked out of the large empty drop-ship, and into the charred ring surrounding it. She watched her people, cleaning away evidence of the horrific battle that must have taken place here, and smiled to herself.

The Mount Weather escapees' ship would serve her plans well.


	29. Chapter 28

_**A/N:** I AM SO LUCKY TO HAVE Marina Black1 AS MY BETA. She refuses to let me submit weak chapters and I am SO grateful for that. Please check out her stories - there's something for everyone!_

_**A/N2:** The end of this chapter ripped out my heart. But that might just be me. PLEASE keep feeding the MUSES with your comments and reviews!_

* * *

Luna had called the meeting after Octavia's announcement that she planned to leave. The elegant leader gathered her guests into the large house's main hall, along with a few members of her own clan – mostly those who had formed friendly relationships with the young refugees.

It was not going well.

There was yelling. Name-calling among the teens. A few of the more boisterous refugees nearly came to blows. After she managed to restore some semblance of order – after the angry ones had controlled themselves a bit, and the frightened ones had found a little courage – Luna cleared her throat.

"Enough!" Her voice was calm but brooked no argument, quieting the last protests. "Octavia, you and your people must come to an agreement on this. If you wish to stay here at the ocean, we will divert what resources and labor we can to help you establish your own village. And we will support your new community in any way we can."

There was a gentle murmur from those who wanted to stay. Luna continued.

"If you opt to return to the forest, that is also your right. We will outfit you with any tools and weapons you require for your journey. But you _must_ decide."

A slightly larger group reacted to that. Lincoln stepped forward.

"Luna, thank you for your assistance. From the first, you have been only kind and hospitable, and we are grateful," Lincoln began. He watched Octavia carefully as he spoke, wondering if she had caught the ambivalence of the group. Even after an hour of debate, there was clearly still interest in staying here; how would they ever come to consensus?

"Always, Lincoln," Luna answered with a gentle smile. She turned to observe her daughter, seated next to the boy called Finn. The young couple watched each other anxiously, barely aware of the rest of the room.

Luna sighed and looked next toward Michael and Anya. She found this couple easier to talk to, not just for their relative maturity but also the shared experience of being born on Earth.

"I know these are not your people. You are free to choose your own path. Will you stay?" The couple barely exchanged a glance before nodding.

"We will. Thank you for your offer. And like you, we welcome the rest to join us here. We can certainly offer our assistance in establishing a new village," Michael's voice was clear, his decision final.

"Well, I'm going," the girl Marla declared into the silence that followed the pronouncement. She looked around at the others. They were used to listening to her, to her ghost stories around the fire. They listened to her now.

"I miss Bellamy and Clarke. I miss the drop-ship." She watched some of them nod: Monroe, Sterling, Lara. Even Parker looked for a moment like he wanted to agree with her, despite his lingering terror of all they had survived in the woods.

Erik shook his head though. As he did, he dislodged Zoe, who had fallen asleep on his shoulder. She looked around blearily and asked him what was going on. After his whispered explanation she glanced at Marla and frowned.

"No. We stay here. It's safe here… Like, the safest we've ever been." Everyone turned to stare at the normally silent girl, and she blushed. "Just my opinion."

"Why can't we split up?" It was Sterling's voice. Something in the question set the crowd ablaze again. Voices rose as people argued with their neighbors. Many did not want to split up: how ridiculous, on such a hostile planet as this, to think they would be better off in smaller groups! Safety in numbers, that was the key to survival. Then there were those who agreed with Sterling. Just because they had all come down to the planet together… it didn't mean they had to stay together, right? It was a huge world. Why not spread out a bit? Enjoy the space?

Miller stared at Sterling in disbelief. Split up? What kind of drugs were the ocean clan healers giving that boy! He growled and ran his hand over his bare head.

"Miller?" Monroe's voice cut through the hazy cloud of his thoughts. He looked down and she smiled that little smile, the one that made him want to protect her from the world. "What will we do?"

"We shouldn't split up the group," he answered her.

"I think that ship has sailed," she pointed out. They glanced around the room and Miller saw what Monroe meant. Invisible lines had been drawn. A group was gathering around Michael, Anya, and Lydia. Zoe and Erik were there, Parker too. Others, including Sterling and Lara, were gravitating toward Octavia and Lincoln. He caught the Blake girl's eye, and saw there such regret at being the source of this divisiveness that he almost felt bad for her. But behind the regret was iron conviction. She would be leaving, with or without the others, because she needed to get back to Bellamy.

A dwindling number of people were caught in limbo, those still uncertain as to the best course of action. They included Miller, weighing his loyalty to Bellamy on one hand and _Dammit how had she snuck in to his heart this way?!_ Lydia on the other. Monroe stood resolutely at his side, staring up at him with eyes full of trust. She had never told him, because Miller was always so busy worrying about everyone else that Monroe usually found herself stranded with the other girls… but she would follow him anywhere.

"So, what do we do?" she whispered again.

Across from them, Irene reached for Finn's hand and gripped it tightly. He was pale, his face drawn at the torture of this sudden change in their plans. Irene had promised him they would have time. Yet again though, Earth was proving how difficult it was to make any long-term plans.

"What is your decision?" He heard the pain in her voice and ran his thumb gently across the top of her hand.

"Irene… If I left, would you come with me?"

She blinked and bit her lips together, shocked at the suddenness of his proposition. This was not the way things were supposed to happen. They were supposed to have _time_.

* * *

Bellamy refused to speak to Kane. He had nothing more to say to the man, and there was enough work to keep them both busy anyway. They were moving so slowly; after two days, the group had covered only half the distance back to Sinclair. It took tremendous effort to keep everyone going – the pregnant women, the children, Jasper and Big Ray.

At night, when Clarke and Bellamy were finally alone, he vented the day's frustrations to her and she listened, having no answers but desperate to help him heal. She offered him what solace she could, peppering his tormented face with soft kisses; she wished there were some way they would sink through to his broken heart. He took it all, hungry and desperate for relief from the torment. As Bellamy clung to Clarke in the darkness, he imagined a different life for them: a simpler life, a life where the good moments outnumbered the bad. He held her, finding sleep in her arms, a sleep temporarily free of nightmares.

In the mornings reality crashed back over them, stripping away the tenuous peace they pulled around themselves each evening. The faces of those dependent on them and the faces of those who had brought them indescribable pain and grief – they muddled together in the daylight, and the couple pushed blearily through the forest of emotional chaos, relying on each other to stay resolute.

By the time they reached Sinclair and the others, just after noon on the fifth day of travel, Bellamy and Clarke were barely speaking to anyone else.

Abby and Kane watched them with trepidation. The endless strain was finally fraying the pair's edges. Something somewhere would have to give, and the former Councilors feared for the relationship of the young leaders. It was obviously the strongest thing in their lives; without it, neither would likely have survived this long. But Bellamy and Clarke were so young. Would they be wise enough to hold tight to each other, or would they let the pressures they faced on a daily basis rip them apart? Kane could not help feeling a certain paternal responsibility for Bellamy, who he still remembered as a somber little boy. He ached for the chance to share his experience and advice, but knew that would be disastrous. Bellamy Blake could not yet see Marcus Kane as he had become; he was still processing who the Councilor had been before. For her part, Abby had finally accepted that Clarke would not accept relationship advice from her. Clarke had moved past the raw anger of her initial discovery, and was able to speak civilly to her mother… as long as neither Jake nor Bellamy were mentioned. Abby had no desire to ruin the tenuous peace they had worked out. That did not stop her from hoping for a sign though, some clue there would be a brighter future for the two of them.

"Councilors, it is _so_ wonderful to see your faces!" Sinclair's voice was laced with relief as the weary group stumbled into camp. Finally, he could turn over responsibility to those better equipped for it. All he wanted right now was a quiet corner and a few electrical components in need of his attention. No people. It was a simple desire, really.

Wick appeared with several others, carrying a low-slung stretcher. He glanced around and spotted his mentor, and cracked a smile.

"Sinclair, don't just stand there like a dickhead; help out!" The familiar voice broke through and the engineer jumped forward instinctively, taking over one of the handles from an exhausted Monty. Others in the camp rushed forward, relieving the Mount Weather escapees of their patients and following Abby's directions.

Once Jasper and Big Ray were settled Sinclair left to seek out Kane, eager to update his leader.

The Councilor was sharing the bad news of Liam's death with his young wife. Sinclair, not wishing to disturb the moment, decided Clarke was a reasonable alternative. He found her back at the tent Abby had hastily commandeered as a temporary medical center, helping the wounded. Neither woman had time to look up, much less listen to a briefing from Sinclair.

He looked for someone else with whom to share his information. His gaze fell on Bellamy Blake, currently surrounded by several dozen children of various ages.

_Of course. _He groaned at the inevitability of it. After their last interaction, this was not the person Sinclair wanted to talk to… but, he considered, at least he was bringing the young man a sort of peace offering.

"I have good news," he announced as he walked up to the dark-haired leader, "Your sister and several others will soon be arriving at our camp, too. They hope to be here this evening."

Bellamy froze for a moment, then turned to stare at Sinclair, a girl of no more than two years old clutched in his strong arms.

"What did you say?"

"I said your sister is on her way. It looks like there's going to be a bit of a reunion. We heard from them over the radios this morning, when they moved into range. Apparently not everyone is with them, though. I guess there was a decision to split up, with some of your people choosing to stay at the ocean. She said someone named Michael is helping coordinate the efforts there, but that the rest of them are heading to back to the drop ship. Since we knew you were on the way to us, we told them to come here first. Safety in numbers, you know."

It finally occurred to Sinclair that Bellamy was not really listening. His gaze was unfocused, his mouth pulled into a slight frown.

"Blake?" Sinclair called gently.

"My sister is coming here?"

"Yes… Aren't you happy?" Sinclair tilted his head in concern. This odd stillness seemed out of character for the former janitor. He was usually so restless.

"Hey, really - are you okay?" the engineer asked, and Bellamy suddenly pushed the child into his arms, taking off for the medical tent.

"Clarke!"

Bellamy needed help. He needed a plan, a way to keep this from happening. Octavia could not meet Kane. She was not ready for that family reunion. Bellamy shook his head. _No._ That was not the problem: the problem was that Bellamy himself was not ready for it.

Big Ray woke up long enough to relieve Little Ray of his temporary command, and to explain to his nomads the serious changes they were about to make to their lifestyle. Now, the pregnant women from Mount Weather huddled fearfully together in the middle of the small snowy meadow, watching a steamy mass of loud, giant, fur-clad men descend on their little group. As the No-Man's Clan introduced themselves though, the group relaxed slightly. These men were far less terrifying up close. They were huge, and their scars told plenty of stories about their pasts, but they were obviously kind; kindness was something with which the mothers of Mount Weather had little practical experience. They found it pleasant, if disconcerting.

The afternoon wore on, the two groups slowly getting to know each other. Eventually even the children – who, after five days aboveground were just starting to move more confidently, and express more interest in the world around them – began to interact with the nomads. To anyone watching, it would have seemed an odd reversal: the young ones, with serious faces and uncertain movements, trying to grasp the idea of play as presented by these giant living teddy bears.

By sunset Monty and Wick were with their friends in the medical tent, Harper and Raven had taken a small group hunting, and Bellamy and Clarke stood at the edge of the clearing, watching the nomads frolicking with their new young wards.

"Admit it; we've seen stranger things down here," Clarke declared. She had spent most of the afternoon trying to calm Bellamy after the revelation that Octavia could be arriving at any moment. His decision to warn Kane away from the Blake family seemed reasonable, but there was no way to be certain the former Councilor would keep his promise. Bellamy's choice to leave as soon as possible made sense.

For him.

"Clarke, I know what you're thinking," he whispered. She looked up into empathetic eyes. "It's your mom, right? You wish you two had more time."

Clarke sighed and leaned into him. His arm wrapped around her comfortingly, making her feel worse. Right now she should be taking care of him, and instead he was consoling her. But he was right: she was unhappy with the idea of leaving her mother again, so soon after they had been reunited and before they had resolved the issues that still plagued their relationship.

"There's no right answer here, Bellamy," Clarke began. "I agree that we need to protect Octavia from Kane. Right now, that's what matters most." She and her mother would have plenty of time to work out their problems... somehow.

Bellamy turned her toward him slightly, and let one hand drift up to Clarke's face. His thumb traced her cheekbone, traversed her jaw, then traveled along the soft curve of her neck to her collarbone as he lowered his face to hers.

"Princess," he whispered, his growl reaching into the depths of her heart and fueling that small bright flame he had gifted her ages ago, "Some day I'll make all this up to you."

The teasing sweetness of his breath across her skin drove her mad. Clarke stretched up, desperate to close the last small distance between them. As she felt the familiar heady rush of warmth from his kiss, she managed a final sentence before her thoughts gave way under the perfection of his lips.

"It's not about that, Bellamy. It's about protecting our people." Then she succumbed, letting him in, melting against his strong form and offering whatever strength she could in return…

"Bellamy! Clarke! They're here! …Hey, where are you two?"

Harper's loud breathless voice broke through even the laughter and shouts of the No-Man's Clan, and the whole encampment turned to watch her. She rushed into the center of the clearing, her cheeks bright red from the chilly run.

"Octavia and Lincoln! We saw them, they're here!" She bent forward, pressing her hands against her knees and heaving to catch her breath. Raven had sent her back to camp to spread the news, and in her excitement Harper had forgotten to pace herself.

"How far away?" Bellamy asked, pushing through the small crowd that gathered around the exhausted messenger, Clarke at his side.

"Someone get her some water!" Clarke ordered, and one of the Ark survivors disappeared. Both leaders turned their full attention to the girl.

"They're close. Raven is bringing them back. They should be here in about an hour."

Soldiers returning from battle could not have expected a warmer welcome. Octavia and Bellamy rushed for each other, Bellamy swinging his little sister around in a hug that Octavia felt seemed outsized for the circumstances. She smiled and stared at him, wondering what had happened to make him so emotional. Before she could ask though, Clarke was there with a hug of her own, and Raven and Monty soon after. They dragged Octavia away to see Jasper; Bellamy shot his blonde partner a warning look, and she nodded, taking off after the trio of friends. She knew what Bellamy was thinking: he could handle the rest of their people, so long as he knew Clarke would run interference between Octavia and her father.

Clarke stopped briefly and shook her head at the mental use of the word. She had not really referred to Kane that way before. She had spent the past few days swamped in Bellamy and his emotional hurt, and not had the chance to process the news for herself.

_Octavia's father._ The man Aurora had hidden from her daughter, and vice versa.

Clarke was just about to enter the medical tent when Jake's smiling face filled her vision unannounced, the remembered tightness of his last hug overwhelming her. She let out a sob and sank to her knees, clutching at the fabric covering the doorway, the pain of that memory beating against her ribs so forcefully it doubled her over.

Bellamy was wrong, Clarke realized suddenly as hot tears coursed freely down her face. He was so wrong. Octavia needed to know. She deserved a chance to love her father, deserved the very love that had been ripped from Clarke so unceremoniously up on the Ark.

Here was a second chance - for all of them.


	30. Chapter 29

_**A/N:** I do not deserve my awesome beta. SHE IS AWESOME. _Marina Black1_, everybody. Love her like I do._

_**A/N2:** The name "Bayan" is derived from the Tagalog (Filipino) name "Bayani" meaning "hero"._

_**A/N3:** As we near the end, I appreciate EVEN MORE every review I get from the ... oh, I don't know, maybe 12 of you?... still following along. :-)  
Thank you for sharing your thoughts & reviews, truly! **It's the only thing I can feed to the Muses. They refuse chocolate.**_

_PS: I have a couple new videos of The 100 set to Florence + The Machine because she has been the music muse for a good 50% of this piece and I've yet to use her in a video. I needed to fix that._

_**[CONTENT WARNING:** Language. It's Big Ray. He's still working on it gang, sorry.]_

* * *

Bellamy found Clarke clutching desperately to the side of the medical tent, her face pale and streaked with tears; she looked away briefly as she sought composure. He squatted down beside her, genuinely worried now. Clarke was not given to moments of public weakness.

"What happened, Princess? What's wrong?"

"She needs to know." Clarke's voice was a whisper at first. Bellamy tilted his head at the cryptic response, his way of asking for clarification.

Clarke looked up and her cobalt eyes, still shimmering with pooled tears, ensnared Bellamy as she described the day her father was floated. She could remember what everyone was wearing. She could remember the looks on their faces, the way the hall smelled, the temperature. Even though at the time she was focused only on Jake Griffin and his final parting smile, Clarke's brain had done the important work of cataloguing all the other details for her, so her images of her father's last moments would be complete.

Bellamy's jaw ticked as he recalled his own mother's execution; it was not a memory he dredged up to examine very often. He generally forced it down deep where it festered, feeding that hot angry part of him. Clarke was now dragging all of it relentlessly out into the open, in a way even Kane's confession and the subsequent week of torment had not. Listening to Clarke voice her suffering liberated his own. The grief that poured through Bellamy as she spoke came in two waves: first, the sympathetic ache for all Clarke had suffered; then the second, far more personal, burn of his own final minutes and seconds with Aurora, before they ripped her from him.

"Enough!" Bellamy yelled the word, and he felt even more miserable for the force of his reaction. But she had flayed him open and it had to end.

"Clarke," he tried again more softly, "Look, I know what you're trying to do." Bellamy sighed and reached for her hand. He stared at it as he spoke, his fingertips lightly tracing the lines that crossed her palm.

"People used to believe our fates were written on our hands," he began idly, changing the topic for a moment. "One of these is the life line," he followed a path at random, having no idea which was which. "And there were heart lines too, I think. If you knew what to look for, there'd be no more guesswork to life. You just had to follow the path that had already been written for you."

"But you don't believe that, do you?"

Bellamy shot her a sardonic look.

"Would I fight this hard? For us? For them? No, our lives aren't decided by anything but our own actions."

"Kane…" she hesitated to finish the question. Bellamy answered anyway.

"_His_ actions hurt the people I love. And he should suffer the consequences."

"Bellamy, isn't that Octavia's decision, too? Aren't you making all the choices for her, if you do it this way?"

Bellamy growled and for a moment his grip on her hand tightened uncomfortably.

"She's my responsibility, Clarke. Always. I have to protect her, and take care of her."

"No, Bellamy. That's where you got it wrong. It's not your job to protect her; your job is to prepare her to take care of herself."

* * *

Kane was looking over a report Sinclair had written while waiting for the councilors to return. The engineer might not like being in charge himself, but he certainly knew the kind of information leaders needed if they were to make wise decisions.

"Sinclair, if we're going to make it back to Tesla Station without incident, we'll need to wait until everyone here is ready to travel."

"All of our people are fine, sir," Sinclair pointed out.

"No. Not all," Kane replied. He turned to the medical tent with a thoughtful frown, and Sinclair followed his gaze. He groaned.

"You mean that one-legged giant, don't you?"

"Big Ray still needs extensive medical care," Kane noted. "We must offer him the choice to go with us, so Dr. Griffin can continue to supervise his treatment."

"Kane." Bellamy's gruff voice interrupted the conversation, and both men turned to find the Blake siblings staring at them with arms crossed, Lincoln and Clarke flanking the dark-haired pair. Kane swallowed hard.

"Sinclair, you're excused," he managed. There was no complaint from the engineer; he disappeared gratefully.

"I want the whole story," Octavia said. Her voice carried only a slight tremble, just a hint of the emotional toll this moment was taking on her. Lincoln took a half-step forward and wrapped one protective arm around her waist.

"We'll listen, and then we'll decide what to do about you. Together," Octavia continued after a moment, looking to Bellamy for reassurance even as she spoke.

Kane nodded and bit back a relieved smile. It was more than he could have asked for. And it was certainly more than he deserved.

"Where should I start?"

"Start at the beginning," Bellamy commanded.

* * *

_Aurora and Bayan Blake were well respected in Factory Station, despite their relative youth. She was a talented seamstress, and he was the elected representative of his work unit. They met Kane through Vera, who introduced her son to Bayan one day after a service for the Tree. The spiritual leader was happy when Marcus took the younger man under his wing; she saw great potential in the charismatic factory worker. Marcus would be a good mentor for Bayan. The men quickly became close friends - until the day Marcus Kane ruined everything. _

_It was a stupid fight. Kane came to Blake about a proposed change to the safety regulations in Factory Station, hoping to secure a sympathetic vote from his friend when the proposal came up for review. After all, by relaxing some of the standards as Kane had outlined, they could significantly increase productivity without sacrificing extra resources._

_Instead Blake announced that he could not, in good conscience, follow Kane's lead. Too many people had expressed fears about the proposal, and the decision could have dangerous consequences for his constituents, including his own team. Aurora was pregnant, and he needed to ensure he would be around to care for his family. Marcus tried cajoling Bayan, bribing him, eventually even threatening him. Time passed and the disagreement escalated, both men growing more intractable as the debate raged on, and by the day of the vote they were no longer speaking to each other. Vera tried to serve as peacemaker but when Marcus discovered she was sympathetic to Bayan's position he cut her off, too._

_Kane's proposal won; but Blake had been right. It was too dangerous. It was so dangerous, in fact, it led directly to the accident two years later that killed Bayan._

_It was a year and a half before Marcus could work up the courage to seek out Aurora. He wanted to offer his condolences. He wanted to… to fix it somehow, to travel back in time and save his friend, return Bayan whole and smiling into his wife's arms._

_Marcus was not ready when she opened the door to her pod. Aurora had blossomed with the birth of her son. He barely recognized her; gone was the slender raven-haired girl always hanging at her gregarious husband's elbow. This new Aurora was womanly and tough and had little time for trivialities. She was raising a child and working long hours, and Marcus Kane brought back memories she wanted buried. She let him in to her pod that first time only as a polite gesture to her husband's friend._

_Kane was attracted to her immediately, and when he discovered she did not know of his distant link to Bayan's death, Kane chose to keep her ignorant of that detail. No sense clouding her opinion of him. Instead he made sure the conversation was polite and friendly, and when he left she invited him to stop by whenever he was in the area. He was able to stay away only four days._

_Bellamy, the most serious toddler Kane had ever seen, looked so much like his father it actually hurt. The only difference was the smile. Bayan could find humor under even the most stressful circumstances; his fatherless son was much more grave. On the rare occasions Kane managed to catch a bit of levity from the young child though, it was clear he had inherited his mother's broad, beautiful grin. It was endlessly charming._

_Almost as charming as Aurora herself. Kane visited more and more frequently; and inevitably, there came a night when the visit lasted longer than usual._

_Aurora made it clear: she was allowing Kane into her bed, not her heart. This was about two people seeking a little solace from a shared grief. There was no need to complicate it with romance. She simply missed the physical closeness of her husband, and while Marcus Kane would suffice as a temporary substitute, he would never replace her true love._

_Marcus was all too happy to agree to her rules. He was busy with the council anyway, and did not have time to commit to a real relationship. As far as he was concerned, this was nearly ideal: all the trappings of a family, handed to him pre-fabricated, and yet none of the responsibility. He could bring little gifts to Bellamy and try to tease out a laugh, without having to worry about things like midnight fevers or tummy aches. He could fall asleep with Aurora's warm tired body in his arms, without the typical late-night arguments he heard about from his married colleagues._

_A year later she ended it._

_One day he came, and she refused to let him in. She told him not to come back, but he did anyway, at first. And each time it was the same. She refused to see him, told him to stop trying. After a couple weeks he gave up. He was tired of the repeated rejection. Aurora had cut him out as quickly and efficiently as she had let him in._

_He really had almost forgotten about their affair, until last year. Other lovers had come and gone in the interim, and as he rose through the Ark's political machine he spent less and less time among the common population._

_Then a report passed across his desk, and as with all cases involving delinquent minors he made sure to read through the entire file carefully. The mother's name first caught his eye; he grunted in surprise. How had Aurora managed to hide something of this magnitude for so long? She was not the first, but she had certainly been the most successful. Kane shook his head as he recalled her intelligence and inner strength, rueful that such a bright, beautiful woman had made this terrible choice. Still, she knew the laws. Sad, really, to think she had ruined her own life and Bellamy's with her poor decisions._

_Kane tried to remember the last time he had seen Bellamy Blake. The boy must have been just about four then..._

_The slim tablet fell to the desk and Kane stood up quickly, panic filling his lungs and pushing out the oxygen. The girl was five years younger than her brother. It was stated clearly in the report._

_Marcus Kane had a daughter._

* * *

Silence hung over the small audience seated around the fire listening to Kane's story. Clarke looked at Bellamy, wondering what he was thinking. He tried to maintain a stony expression but flickers of conflicting emotion were visible to anyone who knew him as well as she did. Octavia wept silently as she thought of her mother, but was otherwise stoic. Lincoln had pulled her into his lap halfway through, and now he held her tight, his body tense as though prepared for battle. Marcus looked at the four of them.

A Grounder warrior and three kids who had survived so much more than anyone on the Ark had expected. He was amazed not by how tough they were, but by their _humanity_. The capacity for love and pain, the openness, the ability to empathize and listen thoughtfully… These traits should have been burned out of them by now, if not by the harsh reality of life on Earth then certainly by their experiences on the Ark.

"O? What next?" Bellamy finally asked. He watched his sister, waiting for her verdict. He knew he would enforce her decision, whatever it might be, even if she chose to accept Kane. It would be a small death for a part of his soul, but that was the price he would willingly pay for her.

"You're not my father," Octavia finally stated as she watched Kane. "That's for damn sure." Bellamy turned to Clarke, trying to hide his grin and failing miserably. Kane seemed to shrink at Octavia's words.

"Wait, Octavia, please -"

"No! Just stop!" She reached out for Bellamy; he grabbed her hand and gave a quick squeeze. "My mother may have had a reason to choose you; I don't know. But since you let her die - when you could have stopped it - I guess we'll never get to ask her. So however bad you feel right now, it's not bad enough. Okay? It'll _never_ be enough!"

Octavia launched upright, breaking free of Lincoln's arms and stalking away from the fire.

"I'll go," Lincoln said after a moment, but Bellamy shook his head and stood, resting his hand briefly on Clarke's shoulder before turning to the shadows at the edge of camp.

"I'm sorry," Clarke offered Kane once the Blakes were out of earshot. "I was really hoping it would go better than that."

"No, this was far more than I expected. Thank you."

They sank into silence, staring into the heart of the dying fire, mesmerized by the glowing embers and the sizzle of occasional flurries that strayed too close to the flames.

* * *

Finn found Irene pacing at the shoreline, a shawl wrapped protectively against the chilly air.

"I hope they made it by now," she said as he settled in next to her.

"I'm sure they're fine. Lincoln and Octavia will keep them safe." Finn lightly draped his arm around Irene, his hand clutching her shoulder.

"Are you still sure you made the right choice, Finn? Staying here?"

He swallowed and was silent. Irene stopped to look at him, staring into those deep eyes of his, searching for regret. She could find none, though, and Finn just stared back.

"I'm more sure every day," he whispered. She grinned and Finn thrilled at the flutter of response in his chest. "Irene?"

"Hmm?" She turned, facing him fully, her body warming at the bare need now flooding his eyes.

"You were right about us. We deserve time to see what happens. And if I left, how could we ever have that?" He pulled her into a hug. She hugged him back at first but then leaned away.

"Time. Yes. And maybe also… just sometimes… a little courage."

Before Finn could process what she meant Irene had risen onto her toes; her mouth hovered hesitantly near his chin for a moment before it found Finn's lower lip and she pressed gently into him. He closed his eyes and relished the softness of her kiss.

When she finally sank back onto her heels, biting her lip nervously, Finn had to turn away. He scraped his hands over his face while he waited for enough composure to speak.

"Irene, I… That was… You didn't have to," he eventually croaked.

"I know."

"Then why?" Irene slipped her hand into his.

"I like you, Finn Collins. A lot. It was… time." She laughed when his eyebrow lifted in surprise at the use of the word.

* * *

Lydia stood in the doorway of the cabin Miller now shared with Monroe. After the others left they had restructured the housing arrangements so Luna would have more space again. That was how Miller had explained it to everyone, anyway. Nobody had questioned when he and Monroe moved into the small two-person hut that had briefly belonged to Clarke and Bellamy.

"Miller? I can't sleep."

He sighed and looked up from the table on which were spread plans for a new village, just north of Luna's.

"Does Michael know you're here?"

"Kinda."

"Uh-huh, I bet. The same way he knew last night, and the night before, and the night before that?"

"You got it," Lydia said, wandering in and clambering up onto the bed. Monroe sat down next to her, looking up at Miller accusingly. She still thought he was too harsh with the child.

Monroe did not understand. Most likely she never would, but since Lydia did it hardly mattered.

"Okay Lyds, but what should _I_ do about it?" he asked the little girl.

"I think you know," she grinned. Miller feigned annoyance but pushed the papers away and leaned forward, staring at her intently. After nearly a minute he started. Lydia curled into Monroe as Miller's story unfolded, a story about life on the Ark. He edited for her, of course, cutting out the worst parts, and as he spoke her lids grew heavier until finally she had fallen asleep.

"Is this going to keep happening?" Monroe asked as Miller lifted the tiny body into his arms and moved toward the door. "Won't you get tired of having to carry her back to Michael and Anya every night?"

Miller looked down at Lydia's slack features, and listened to the little half-snore. He could not tell if he had come to think of her as a daughter or a sister. Not that it mattered: fuck the terminology, Miller would always look out for Lydia, because she looked out for him.

"No. I won't."

* * *

Clarke sighed and shifted onto her back, staring up at the first grey light of dawn leaking through the roof of the tent. There was no point trying to sleep now.

"Bellamy? You awake?" she whispered.

"Always, Princess," came the immediate response from beside her. She frowned, knowing that was truer than it should be. He shifted then too, turning to wrap his warm body around hers, and she briefly shut her eyes against the morning. He felt so good... His lips grazed playfully across her shoulder and traveled up her neck. They both noticed her when breathing jumped at the caress. Bellamy called her name longingly and it took a great deal of will power to pull away from him, to frown and remind him that today was the day they would start the journey back to the drop-ship.

Bellamy did not appreciate reality's intrusion into this moment, and he pouted at her, begging her to let them have just a few more minutes to themselves, to pretend there was nothing outside the chilly tent but a snowy field and maybe a couple wild turkeys. Clarke caved at that, because he so rarely expressed the need to be a person first and a leader second. Whenever he did, she knew the pressure had gotten particularly bad.

She turned to face him, crushed her lips against his, her fingers finding their way into his hair. As she fell deeper into the moment, Clarke shrugged off the sense of foreboding that had haunted her for the past week. Instead she focused on the heat of Bellamy's skin, his fingers dancing like flames across her flesh...

…His skin _was_ hot.

_Really_ hot. Clarke's medical side finally broke through the glorious haze of the moment. She cut off the kiss and sat upright so quickly Bellamy actually groaned in frustration.

"You're burning up. Are you feeling okay?" Clarke asked, eyeing his flushed cheeks and bright eyes.

"I felt a lot better a moment ago," he groused.

"You're getting sick. Come on; get dressed. I need to check with my mom." She was already slipping into her boots.

"Bringing up your mother right _now_? Clarke, that's just…" His voice faded as he watched Clarke's eyebrow slide up disapprovingly. "… Fine. I'm going!"

They found Dr. Griffin in the medical tent, trying to convince Big Ray to drink some of the seaweed tea so he could stave off infection at the amputation site.

"Will that work on fevers?" Clarke asked as Bellamy leaned against her. He tried to hide it, but the walk over had proved too draining.

Abby immediately dragged them both outside, not wanting to possibly infect her other patients. After a quick exam, Abby smiled encouragingly.

"The good news is you've just got a virus. It's definitely survivable," she pointed out. "You'll be really miserable for a day or two, and then only moderately miserable for a few days after that." Abby assured them it was to be expected, pointing out that stress and poor sleeping habits had likely wrought havoc on his immune system. Clarke knew she was right, but what were they supposed to do about that? There were so many people relying on them; they had survived mostly on luck, grit, and battlefield medicine until now.

"There's no way we can leave today," Clarke declared once they were back in their tent. Bellamy was lying down again, but at her words he tried to sit up.

"Don't be ridiculous. We're leaving. I can't stay in this shitty place a minute longer."

"Well, I'd like to see you try it now," she pointed out. He sank back and closed his eyes in defeat.

"One day. That's it, Clarke, no matter what. Promise me." She huffed at him but finally nodded.

"I promise."

* * *

The next morning forty-one teenagers followed Bellamy and Clarke, Lincoln and Octavia out of the Ark citizens' campsite, heading south. Bellamy still felt like shit, but Octavia and Clarke took turns helping him, and whenever he thought the others were watching he made a point of standing ramrod straight. They would not see him weak.

Wick and Big Ray stood at the medical tent, watching them leave. Big Ray was learning to use crutches, although Sinclair had actually gotten excited at the prospect of fashioning a prosthetic leg for the man. He had already started on a prototype.

"You could fuckin' go too, you know," Big Ray pointed out to Wick. "Those kids are a hell of a lot more like you than any of these bastards."

"Yeah, I know."

"So then what the fuck?"

Wick grinned and crossed his arms. He stared around the clearing at the women and children, at Sinclair and Kane, at Dr. Griffin checking in on an injured No-Man's Clan member.

"You know what dude? I think it's just that they don't need me nearly as much as you all do. Without me around, this whole place would fall apart." Big Ray grunted in understanding. Beneath the humor, Wick was at least partly right.

They continued to watch the camp for several more minutes.

"How long will it take them to get home?" Wick finally asked.

"Should be about three days if they fucking push. But Scary Shad- I mean, fuckin' Bellamy being sick as shit will slow them down for damn sure."

"I don't think Bellamy's used to slowing down."

"Nah, that's fuckin' true, that bastard would push himself until he fuckin' collapsed. Thank fuck for Pretty Clarke."

For some reason he could not explain, Wick was struck by that last statement. In a strange way, he considered, it perfectly summarized a lot of things in Bellamy Blake's life.

"Yes, Big Ray. Thank fuck for Pretty Clarke."


	31. Chapter 30

_**A/N: **I cannot believe it's here... The final chapter of the story that helped me survive this summer. Now I'm just excited to see where my story and the actual Season 2 converge/diverge! (If Big Ray shows up I will DIE.)_

_**A/N2:** This story would not even EXIST without my beta_, Marina Black1_. T__here are no words strong enough to tell you how much she means to me!_

_**A/N3:** If you want more "The 100" fanfic fun, I would love you to check out my other works. Also recommended, although I know there are MANY others out there: the works of Marina Black1 (clearly), tamilnadu09, thebluefeather, and BrookyV._

_**A/N4: **I can be found online in other places, too! Twitter ( justvisiting80), Tumblr (with Marina on "the 100 thundershirts") and YouTube (Josephine Visit). I've also JUST started to post some of my original writing, at justvisiting80. wordpress. com (remove the spaces obvs)... Be gentle: writing original pieces is a WHOLE different beast and I'm just starting out._

_**A/N5:** (Oh my god I need to shut up.) BUT WAIT! I JUST HAVE TO TELL YOU ALL THAT I AM ABSOLUTELY THE LUCKIEST WRITER ON FFN BECAUSE I HAVE THE BEST, MOST SUPPORTIVE READERS! I adore each and every one of you. I consider you all family. Thank you for sticking with me._

* * *

Sterling and Lara were the first to make the discovery, on the last day of the trek back to the drop-ship. They had volunteered to scout ahead, although everyone knew they were just desperate for some private time in the woods together. Bellamy still felt too miserable to protest, and Clarke was so worried about Bellamy she offered little more than a quick warning to stay sharp. The younger couple took advantage of their distraction, slipping away before anyone else could complain.

There had been a hurried conversation at the edge of the group's temporary campsite, Sterling impatient to be alone with Lara, Lara nervous about walking away without even a knife to defend themselves against the dangers of the forest. The compromise came by happenstance, when Raven ambled past with a handful of radios she had been tweaking. Sterling convinced Raven to give him the best one, tossing a cocky smile at Lara as he did so. They ran, giddy with relief at escaping the group for a few hours. By the time they stopped to catch their breath, they were close to the drop-ship – much closer than they realized.

Their tryst was interrupted by a scuffling just on the other side of the ridgeline; Sterling, halfway to undressed, shushed Lara and peered out from behind the trunk of the dense fir that served as their impromptu shelter. He was expecting to catch sight of a wild animal. The boars in this area were large enough to feed a good part of the camp, and if they had found one, he should tell Bellamy right away.

Not an animal.

_Mountain Men._

Sterling was unprepared for that; he let out a startled cry and fell back. Less than five hundred feet away two uniformed guards spun around, searching for the source of the sudden noise. Sterling and Lara managed to get away, but they were fairly sure they had been spotted.

* * *

"…Which means we could be walking into a trap," Bellamy finished for them when they finally reported back to him. He looked haggard, having been roused from bed an hour prior by Lara's frantic radio call. The terrified young couple glanced first at each other across the fire, then at Clarke, who nodded at Bellamy. This was the worst news they could have received. Bellamy was not yet ready for a fight. Even _standing_ still took a great deal of energy.

"We have to assume they're expecting us," she admitted with a frown.

"You think they're at the drop-ship?"

"I _think_ we need to find out for sure."

"Get Lincoln and Octavia," Bellamy finally ordered. Clarke waited until Sterling and Lara had left before rounding on her partner, fire in her eyes. His intentions were clear.

"You can't do this, you know that."

"What? Can't fight for what's ours, Princess?" He had that look on his face, that half-frustrated, half-stubborn look only Clarke and Octavia could elicit. "I can and I will. You know there are no other options."

"There _are_ oth -"

"Not for me." His voice was quiet but the finality of it silenced her immediately, because of course he was right. Clarke could return to her mother and the others, and it would be tense for a while but her position within that society was secure. Bellamy, though? The one man who had shown him respect, had cared about him and seemed genuinely interested in him, was Marcus Kane – and Bellamy had burned that bridge. Returning to Luna and the others at the coast was always a safe option, but Bellamy would chafe endlessly under another's leadership. No, this was Bellamy's one shot at a future as he had come to envision it, and Clarke sighed heavily at the thought of yet another battle looming so close on their horizon.

"Will it ever end?" she whispered as she walked back to their tent with him. She glanced around, not wanting to panic the others with her worry.

"Yes. Tomorrow we'll end it, Clarke." His face was pale and there were dark shadows under his eyes, and yet he spoke with such resolve that Clarke found herself momentarily buoyed by his confidence.

It was barely after noon, but she needed him to rest. The healer in her said it was the best medicine, the leader in her said they would not survive tomorrow without him, and the lover in her cried out in anguish, watching him suffer. When Lincoln and Octavia eventually appeared, she paced impatiently while Bellamy asked them to scout out the drop-ship site, and as soon as it was acceptable she kicked them out.

"Bellamy, if you won't get better, I won't agree to this."

"Princess…"

"No. You need to sleep." Clarke Griffin was not the kind to pout, but at this moment she looked damn close to it. Bellamy broke into a wide smile, despite his exhaustion. Instead of lying down though, he stepped forward. He moved right into Clarke's space, slipping out of his jacket and wrapping his bare arms loosely around her waist. When he was close enough that kissing her was the only real option, he waited to see what she would do. Her mouth twisted as she fought a brief internal battle. Clarke the Healer won temporarily.

"You look like you're about to pass out."

"Am I contagious?"

"If so, I'm already infected."

Bellamy considered Clarke's assessment for one short, hot, needy moment.

"Okay then." His fingers slid roughly through her hair as his lips found hers. Clarke the Healer threw up her hands and let Clarke the Lover have this round.

She poured all the crushing cold darkness within herself into the kiss, poured her distress and worry and grief and endless black dread into the man who had promised her his entire soul and delivered on the promise. And though she knew she had no right to expect it of him, he accepted her despair willingly and offered his love in its place, and she felt ridiculous when the tears came because there was no time for weakness and yet after everything they had survived it was all she had left.

He realized something was wrong, pulled back slightly, and the quiver in her chin was like a dagger to his chest.

"Shh, Princess, no," he murmured, holding her and letting her fall apart. He recalled the night, seemingly decades (but really just weeks) ago, after the monster had attacked him on the edge of the Old Capitol. There was only one thing that could bring Clarke this much pain: the fear of losing Bellamy.

He found the thin bedding of their tent and pulled her down, curling her into his lap and reassuring her as best he could. Her hands dug into the fabric of his shirt, curling up great fistfuls of cloth as she sought out his lips again, desperate to steal more of his iron strength. Even as she did, Clarke felt guilty for relying so heavily on Bellamy, when at this moment he most needed her to be his co-leader.

Bellamy tried not to admit how much he ached for the sweet caress of her lips, when it was obvious how vulnerable she was right now. A stronger man would show restraint. When it came to Clarke, Bellamy could not be that man. The feeling of her body pressed against his, the quick beat of her heart under his palm, the wild look in her eyes as she caught his stare… The fierce, fiery ache for her was always there, just under the surface of every conversation, every battle of wills, every look and every touch. She haunted his dreams and his days, and even though his head still pounded from the waning fever, he realized she was tugging impatiently at his shirt and he helped her get it over his head and in the hazy muddle of his thoughts he could not be sure where it landed but he stopped caring when Clarke peeled off her own sweater and pulled him down beside her onto the bed.

Clarke knew she was doing everything wrong. She should be the calm one, the strong one, resilient and disciplined enough to make sure Bellamy was well rested for whatever tomorrow might bring. But he was so temptingly beautiful. His chest, sculpted to perfection by life on this deadly planet; his eyes, simultaneously clever and caring; his dimpled chin and sprinkle of freckles, twisting into her dreams long before she had been ready to admit it; and his heart, large enough for all their people and for her, too.

She made love to Bellamy slowly, tenderly, focusing on him and this shared moment of stolen pleasure. At the same time, parts of her brain took careful note of the way the air smelled, the chill in their tent, the colors shifting as sunset deepened. Every detail was carefully catalogued so this memory would be complete for her in the future… just in case.

* * *

Bellamy rose with the sun. He had a battle to prepare for, and besides – he was feeling better at last. He was not quite back to normal, but it would be enough to get through this day.

"Sterling was right about the Mountain Men," Lincoln's gentle voice came from the shadows nearby. Bellamy glanced over with a nod.

"How many?"

"Less than I expected, but we are still outnumbered at least three to one."

"We have a significant advantage, though," Bellamy pointed out as Lincoln joined him. "They've only been topside about a week."

"Do you mean they will not know the area? Because I would assume they have maps by now, if they are competent strategists."

"Having a map and knowing how to use it are two different things," Bellamy countered. "Other than their guards, the Mountain Men have lived in a self-contained bubble for the past hundred years."

"So did your people," Lincoln reminded him. Bellamy shot him a testy look.

"My people have proven themselves to be fighters. But the Mountain Men… we've seen them, and I'm telling you, it's just the guards. The fight will be won if we can take them out."

"Do you have a plan?"

"Mm-hm. But I'll need your help." Bellamy's jaw tightened briefly. "… And we'll need Octavia."

* * *

_So much_ of Bellamy's plan worked well.

Stealing blatantly from their battle with the Grounders, Bellamy sent Octavia and Lincoln out with his fastest runners to draw fire, certain the Mount Weather guards had a finite supply of ammunition. The more they wasted, the less they would have available when Bellamy and his soldiers finally attacked. The guards were also the only ones trained in combat, and they comprised just under half the population at the drop ship. Because of the strict stratification of labor within the Mountain Men's society, there were no "natural fighters" among those left huddled around the ship. These were medics, scientists, and mechanics, day laborers and politicians. Not one among them felt a natural inclination to pick up the weapon of a fallen soldier and forge resolutely into battle against the shadowy figures striking at them from all sides.

Bellamy's theory about the guards' readiness for forest combat proved correct, as well. He sent small groups of fighters in for a quick strike and pulled them back again just as quickly, and the Mountain Men became increasingly distressed and disoriented by the darkness of the woods, the ghostly nature of their adversary, and the chilly drizzle that had descended over them all. It felt as though this battle would never end, as though they could not win against a foe who had already become half-forest himself. All Senator Fulton's haranguing could not combat the increasing sense of dread among her guards.

They had no idea how bad it really was in the woods.

* * *

"...It doesn't matter, Bellamy, we can't keep doing this!" Clarke yelled to be heard above the sound of nearby fighting as she triaged yet another wounded teen.

"No, Princess! Trust me! I know it's working!" he yelled back in frustration, his head pounding with the last traces of fever as he worked to keep track of his people. Sterling sidled up, and Bellamy ordered him off on another run past the western flank. Time and again it had proven to be the Mountain Men's weak spot, and Bellamy hoped a few scouts could take advantage of that weakness to steal more rifles.

"At what cost, though?" She stood up, wiping one blood-smeared forearm across her brow and staring around at a half-dozen injured friends. Two bodies lay off to the side, stilled forever, ready for burial once they had a moment of peace.

"The simple truth is that we're outnumbered," Clarke pointed out.

"You didn't care about numbers when you went back into Mount Weather," he countered.

"That was a rescue mission. This? This is just war."

"I could end it now, Clarke, if you'd just let me -"

"No!" She reached out to silence him, wrapping her arms around his neck and stealing a hard, frenzied, terrified kiss.

He wanted to lead a group past the front lines after dark. He wanted to find Fulton, kill her, and end the battle. It was tantamount to a suicide run, and every atom in Clarke's body screamed at her to stop him. She saw now how right he had been, back when she had attempted the same thing.

Now she understood. There was no place worth the loss of Bellamy, not when she had come to see _him_ as her only true home.

* * *

Jasper, still weak from his bullet wound, fumed quietly at Bellamy's command to sit this one out.

"I need someone I trust running comms," he had told the younger man, and Jasper had nodded: _Sure, absolutely._ Bellamy and Clarke had kept them alive thus far, so hell yes he would do whatever his leader asked of him. Of course, _obeying_ an order was not the same as _liking_ the order. He watched as Raven and Monty swept past, dragging Harper with them on another run, and his lip curled with jealousy.

"Raven?" One of the walkie-talkies in front of Jasper hissed to life, and he jumped at the unfamiliar voice.

"Uh no, this is Jasper. Who is this? How are you on this wavelength?" Monty and Raven had insisted upon using three different channels for communication, funneled through Jasper. If a radio was taken, at least those listening in would only hear part of their communications.

"It's good to hear your voice, young man! This is Counci- no, sorry. This is Marcus Kane. Raven has been keeping us updated. How are things going?"

Jasper sat back heavily in surprise, staring at the radio, wondering what to do. Raven had definitely not checked with Bellamy on this; there was no way he would have approved.

"Councilor Kane, sir, I'm not sure what to tell you. I mean… Bellamy…"

"… I understand." Static filled in the brief silence. "Well, you can tell Clarke and Bellamy that we're on the way, just in case they need help."

"I'm not… I don't think he'll agree to that."

"Then let's just not say anything at all," Kane offered. Jasper looked around. Darkness had snuck up on them, and both sides were pulling back slightly, hunkering down in anticipation of an evening filled with poor sleep and sporadic skirmishes. This was their chance to lick their wounds before the battle resumed in earnest at dawn.

"Okay," Jasper conceded gratefully. "But Kane?"

"Yes?"

"Maybe just… Hurry?"

* * *

Sunrise. More fighting, more wounded - and with the day's first light, more death.

Clarke moved blearily among the injured, checking for any new surprises like the internal bleeding that had cost her a patient already, but everyone was stable at the moment. She looked for Bellamy - by now such a habit that she only noticed she was doing so if she could not find him.

He crouched beside Sterling, who had taken a bullet in the arm protecting Lara during a particularly rough fight just before dawn. Even now, the blonde boy was trying to pass on what intel he could.

Lara interrupted them so she could change Sterling's bandages, and Bellamy caught Clarke's eye as he stood. He picked his way over to her carefully, his mouth drawn tight, his thoughts still with Sterling.

"I'll be honest, I didn't think we'd get this far," she conceded once he was at her side.

"I told you to trust me."

"Uh, guys?" Jasper interrupted. He looked wretched, and the bags under his eyes announced how little sleep he had gotten overnight.

"We need to talk. But listen - can I first state, for the record, that I am just the messenger here? And when you've heard what the messenger has to say, I'd like to ask you to shoot someone else, please?" He shuffled uncomfortably, and added under his breath, "Raven comes to mind as an option…"

"Jasper, what are you talking about?" Clarke could not hide her smile.

"It's just that Bellamy's going to be so pissed. And I hate being blamed when things aren't my fault."

"Spit it out," Bellamy ordered, and Jasper's Adam's apple bobbed nervously in response.

"Well, it would appear that Raven – in what I can only assume was a moment of insanity or possibly drunken stupidity – that she called Kane on the radio? Back when Sterling discovered the Mountain Men? And, um…" Bellamy's face would have stopped a stampede of wild horses. Jasper closed his eyes and forged ahead. "… And Kane is coming. Here. With, you know, guards and stuff."

Silence.

Bellamy stormed off after Raven.

Clarke sighed in relief.

"Thank you for telling us, Jasper. And don't worry about Bellamy; I'll deal with him. Do you know when Kane and the others will get here?"

"They left as soon as Raven contacted them, and that was two days ago. They could be here tonight, I guess, if they – oh, okay, and you're already gone. Yeah, no, that's fine. I _like_ talking to myself like a crazy person," Jasper muttered darkly at Clarke's retreating back.

* * *

Bellamy was pissed at everyone, but he was also smart enough to see the merits of stalling until reinforcements arrived. He watched the sky carefully throughout the rest of the day, wondering whether the heavy grey clouds amassing overhead carried rain or snow. Either way, it would make for another miserable evening of battle.

Kane and a dozen armed guards joined them just after sunset; Abby had insisted on coming along, and Clarke sagged with exhausted relief when her mother offered to take over the medical responsibilities.

"Go. Bellamy needs you," Abby urged, all business except for a brief teary moment when she grabbed her daughter into a tight hug and kissed her forehead. The pair separated quickly, shifting into their respective roles as smoothly as if they were slipping out of one coat and into another.

Clarke was adamant that she join Bellamy's attack on Senator Fulton. He tried to protest but she got that look in her eye – the one he both loved and feared, the one that assured him he had already lost the argument. He gave in, and when Kane offered to come along, Bellamy just grunted his consent. Perhaps if they were lucky, Kane and Fulton would kill each _other_.

* * *

Senator Fulton waited impatiently for updates from the perimeter guards. As soon as Sarah returned, Fulton decided, they would need to have a serious discussion about dedication to the cause. These delays were going to get people killed.

Pretty young aides, for example.

"Senator! Senator!" Sarah approached the drop-ship at breakneck speed, nearly crashing into the slender, stiff older woman.

"They're here! They've broken through -"

It was too late. The terrified men and women harangued into serving as the Senator's temporary guards melted away as Bellamy emerged from the shadows leading Clarke, Kane, Octavia, and Lincoln.

The icy hatred Clarke had been storing for Fulton suddenly burst forth and she lunged forward, reminded once again of the women, the children, the experiments under the mountain. She felt the unfulfilled promise to Senator Cary settle over her shoulders, heavy and cold. She had to kill the bitch responsible for so much pain and fear and death.

Too late, Clarke remembered she was unarmed.

She tried to grab Fulton but the older woman was fast, and tough. They ended up grappling briefly as the others looked on, helpless. There was no way to shoot Fulton without possibly hitting Clarke, and everyone knew Bellamy would not accept that.

Clarke caught an elbow to the eye, and the sharp pain almost drive her to the ground, but she staggered and recovered and kicked Fulton in the knee, snapping it sideways with a sickening pop. As the Senator stumbled and screamed, Kane and Bellamy took advantage of the women's sudden separation. They opened fire; Fulton fell to the ground. Clarke watched as whatever Fulton had that counted as a soul fled her eyes. There was nothing glorious about it, no great sense of accomplishment, and none of them could even say if it was Bellamy or Kane who had delivered the fatal shot. It was just… over. Clarke felt empty, staring down at the suddenly very mortal face of the woman who had haunted her nightmares.

* * *

Senator Fulton's aide watched it all from nearby, stunned at first by the sudden turn of events. When they shot Senator Fulton, though, she flew into a wild rage. They had assassinated her leader right in front of her, and something snapped inside Sarah.

"How dare you? _How dare you?!_" she yelled, charging toward the blonde woman. Sarah always carried a pistol - Fulton had insisted she be armed at all times – and now she pulled it out, aiming frantically.

...

Clarke looked up just in time to see the Senator's aide rushing forward, waving a handgun and screaming incoherently. Time shifted and changed, congealing thickly around Bellamy and his team even as it thinned before the woman from Mount Weather. She was moving too fast and none of them could possibly respond in time. They watched Clarke in horror.

...

Sarah should have realized the dark-haired man would not let it happen. She should have shot him first. Instead she heard gunfire too loud and too close; a strangely painless heat ripped through her abdomen and chest, and her legs simply stopped working. As she fell forward, Sarah's last thought was not of the Senator, or the man who had killed her… it was that the rain felt amazing on her skin.

* * *

Bellamy glared at Octavia's father through the curtain of water the heavens had finally unleashed on them all. The older man still had not lowered his rifle, after shooting the crazed Mount Weather woman who attacked Clarke.

"_Dammit_ Kane, how the hell am I supposed to hate you now?" he shouted over the deafening storm. Kane, shaken out of his stupor by the young leader's words, turned around with a smile.

"I'm sure you'll find a way," he called back.

"Bellamy!" Clarke finally found her voice, and Bellamy forgot everyone else. He closed the distance between them quickly.

"It's over, Princess," he smiled, and she knew he meant more than this battle. He meant more even than the recurring nightmare of Mount Weather. With those deceptively simple words, he was promising her exactly the future they ached for, and she was grateful for the rain because it hid her happy tears as he leaned in to seal that promise with a heady kiss.

In the middle of the wintry forest, under a blanket of cold grey rain, next to the fallen body of a corrupt Senator, the fire within Bellamy Blake found and melted the ice within Clarke Griffin one last time.

* * *

**Sorry, one more thing... Hell YES there will be an epilogue! xoxo, Jo.**


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